The Color of Life
by AllisonMadness
Summary: Harry and Draco are planning their future when they end up 800 years in the past. Now they must struggle to survive a whole new life while trying to find a way home. HP/DM Slash, nothing too explicit. Time Travel, AU from HPB.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a HP/DM slash. There will be nothing truly explicit._

_05/18/12: I edited the dates slightly to conform with JKR's school year. It was a glaring mistake that I couldn't live with anymore._

_Thanks to my beta's: Badgerlady for her help with the Britishisms and spelling, and Crescent for her help with plot ideas and trying to put words in the right order. They are truly the best._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR owns it all. I just play in her world_

**Chapter 1**

Late April in Scotland was not warm. Spring had not even thought about making an appearance yet. Snow lay in large drifts and the rare times that the day was warm enough to melt some of it, the resulting puddles and wet ground would freeze again at night, making for hazardous conditions.

Today had been a somewhat warmer day than normal and many of the smaller drifts had begun to disappear, leaving large patches of snow at the base of the evergreen trees and piled up against the north walls of the castle and its outbuildings. The Quidditch pitch was a soggy, muddy mess that would ice over before dawn.

The sun had set less than hour before when two young men emerged from the main castle doors, wrapped in warm winter cloaks, and following a path well known to both of them. They looked neither down nor to the sides. Their entire focus was on the small structure in the distance that was their destination, and on each other. Behind them, the castle seemed to glow with an ethereal light from all of the candles and lamps that proved life inside was continuing as usual. Curfew was not for another two hours, so there would still be students in the halls and the library, although most would be found in their common rooms by now.

As they walked, the space between the boys was just the right amount for two people who were not friends. It was close enough to allow for polite, necessary conversation without needing to shout, but far enough apart that there could be no accidental touching. They didn't speak, only the sounds of their shoes in the wet grass broke the stillness of the new night.

One of the boys, the one on the right with tangled black hair that no comb could tame, walked with easy comfort, the fingers of his left hand tapping out a rhythm on the side of his leg that seemed to correspond to a song only he heard. His right hand lay still against the outside seam of his trousers, where a long, thin pocket was sewn. Only his thumb, brushing slightly against the item in the special pocket, moved at all. He was barely contained energy, seemingly ready to burst with power, anger or enthusiasm, depending on his mood. He appeared to be held in check only because of the boy at his side.

That boy, the one on the left with sleek blond hair floating slightly at the ends by a nearly non-existent breeze, was the perfect picture of stillness and grace. His hands did not twitch; they swung at his sides with calm nonchalance. His steps were firm with purpose and resolve, holding him erect in a posture that could only have been learned through long lessons and strict enforcement. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his companion in the light of the waxing moon now only four days from full, a slight smirk playing on his lips and withheld laughter in his eyes.

The dark haired boy caught him looking and rolled his eyes, then offered a small, shy smile while dipping his head slightly and causing his fringe to swing over his forehead. A blush stole up his neck, barely seen in the moonlight. The withheld laugh escaped the blond boy in a soft breathless huff and he moved a step closer to his companion.

Before either of the boys could say or do anything more, they arrived at their destination. The hut was in front of them and the door was swinging open to reveal a huge man, broad shoulders filling the doorway, body framed in shadow against the light from the fireplace escaping the room behind him.

"Glad te see yeh, boys," he said jovially. "Yer right on time. Yeh know what to do?"

They both nodded, careful to look only at the man as he handed each of them a small bag, and not at each other.

"Don' be late gettin' back," the giant man called as they turned to leave. "I don' wan' te have te explain te the 'eadmaster where ye are."

Both boys laughed and the dark haired one called out, "We'll be good, Hagrid. Don't worry."

Hagrid shook his head as he closed the door. "_Yeh_ c'n call it what yeh wan', but _I_ ain' callin' it _'good_'."

The echo of their laughter drifted up behind them and tangled with the night air before dissipating in the dark.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

They skirted the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where it met up with the Black Lake, not speaking as they collected the plants that Hagrid had requested of them earlier that day. Eventually, they came to a small glade surrounded on three sides by trees and the fourth by the lake. Small white stones littered the ground in an irregular pattern.

For a moment, the two boys hovered just outside the glade, almost daring each other to take the last step through, until finally one stepped in, followed closely by the other.

The weather changed in that moment, warming to the feel of early summer. The magic of the glade held the seasons in check, providing a hidden place, known by few and found by fewer.

They had stumbled on it by accident a few months ago, during the first detention that they had deliberately gone out of their way to get from Hagrid. Now it was a personal joke that only they and Hagrid were privy to. Every couple of weeks, they would serve "detention," collecting whatever Hagrid had in mind. Sometimes it was certain plants, sometimes moss, but it was never anything that was difficult to find, or that would take long to collect.

They shed their cloaks and spread them on the ground, laying the half-full bags aside and sitting just at the edge of the glade near the trees. They tried not to disturb the peace of the glade, coming in far enough only to share a bit of it, taking it into their souls to carry back to reality with them when they had to leave.

Slowly, the false summer warmth settled into their skin. The stress of the last few days began to melt away and, inch by inch, they moved closer to each other until their arms were brushing lightly.

"Harry," the blond boy's voice was quiet, soft with caring.

"Draco," Harry replied in an equally soft tone as he took Draco's hand, twining their fingers together.

Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry's as Harry pulled his fingers away from Draco's and wound his arms around Draco's back, pulling him over until they were both lying down, the cloaks a barrier between them and the grass. Draco lay on top of Harry, their lips moving against the other's, tongues battling playfully.

Harry smoothed his hands up and down Draco's back, resisting the urge to pull off Draco's jumper and untuck his shirt to reach the bare skin of his back. Instead he slipped his hands underneath the soft wool of his jumper and enjoyed the feel of muscles beneath the fine woven cotton of his shirt.

When their mouths finally parted, Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, and brought his hand up to wind fingers in Harry's dark hair and sighed, his breath warm against Harry's skin.

"Only two more months," Harry whispered into Draco's hair.

"You mean fifty-seven days," Draco corrected with a soft laugh.

Harry laughed with him, "Yeah, that." He brought a hand out from under Draco's jumper and smoothed it through Draco's hair, loving the fine texture and baby softness of the platinum blond strands.

In the eyes of most of the world, they were enemies. Two young men on opposite sides of a war that the adults in their lives seemed intent on making them fight. All because of a prophecy that everyone determined had to be fulfilled. These two boys would fight so that the adults could stand in the background and claim that there was nothing that could have been done differently. All of the people that Harry normally looked up to, some of whom he considered family—all of them stood by and exclaimed about how _Harry_ was the one who had to find and destroy the Horcruxes. _Harry_ was the one who had to strike the killing blow against an enemy who was decades older and considerably more powerful than he.

It didn't matter that the prophecy was being shoved down Harry's throat against his will or that he was gagging on it. It didn't matter that Draco was being forced into Voldemort's camp by Lucius Malfoy's failures. Draco had been given an impossible task, one that ensured beatings and torture and kneeling broken before a madman, swiftly followed by death, because at the end of the year Draco's task was going to remain unfulfilled, just as Harry's task would also go undone. Harry swallowed uncomfortably at the thought of what _could have happened_ if Draco had not come to Harry in tears at the beginning of the year, confessing all that Voldemort expected him to do, begging him for help.

It had been the beginning of the plans for their escape.

Up until now, Harry followed the headmaster's lead, doing all the things Dumbledore wanted him to do, while planning a very different outcome than what the headmaster expected.

Harry had compliantly looked at all the memories of Tom Riddle's youth. He had obediently talked Slughorn into telling the truth about the Horcruxes. He had faithfully played all the games that Dumbledore set out for him, but Harry was left to wonder why in the world this was Harry's job in the first place. Why hadn't Dumbledore recognized Tom Riddle as a problem before he had left school? Why had nothing been done about it during Voldemort's first rise to power? It made no sense to put all of this on Harry's shoulders. He was not an adult; he'd had no special training. Occlumency seemed beyond his abilities and even Draco had given up trying to teach it to him. He was constantly being manipulated into situations where he had no control, and when he more often than not _accidentally_ succeeded at solving whatever problem he was pushed into, he was then set aside, sent back to the Dursleys for more humiliation and pain under the guise of _protection_. He was forgotten until the next time it was necessary for him to do something that the supposed adults should have taken care of.

Fifty-seven days, Harry thought as the moonlight reflected off the scars on the back of his left hand. I must not tell lies.

Fifty-seven days, he thought and realised that nearly his entire life had consisted of one lie or another. The lie that Harry would be safe at the Dursley's. The lie that he had had a childhood, happy or otherwise. The lie that Sirius would be alive and exonerated of the crimes he hadn't committed. The lie that he was not being used, that Harry was not the pawn of a manipulative old man and a prophecy. The lie that he had any control over his life. All lies.

Fifty-seven days. Harry sighed as he listened to Draco's breathing, felt his breath exhaling against Harry's neck. This was his reality now, this was his truth.

All that mattered to both of them at this moment was that in fifty-seven days they would be free, the school term at an end. They would shrug off the chains that bound them to the castle and a manipulative headmaster. Unlock the heavy links that tied them to a purpose that neither had asked for, but both had been thrust into, permission unasked, only assumed.

They didn't normally talk about what would happen after those fifty-seven days were finished, it was enough to know that the choices had been made, plans put into place that little by little were being completed.

Only one other person knew anything about their plans. Hagrid knew that they were together, he happily helped them to have some private moments, but the other one—he had helped them to move funds into a private vault at Gringotts, emptying the Black family vaults. He had helped them open a bank account at a Muggle bank and found them a flat on the outskirts of Muggle London. An unbreakable vow allowed Harry and Draco to trust him with their lives and their freedom. He had given them a measure of control over their out-of-control lives and both of them recognized that they owed him more than they could ever repay. They owed him their sanity.

At the beginning of June, Draco would turn seventeen, with Harry following less than two months after. Once they were out of school, they would hide out at Grimmauld place and then on Harry's birthday, they would get married, change their names and disappear. They wanted to live their lives free of war and hate and oppression.

Harry tightened his hold on Draco and Draco responded by wrapping his hand around Harry's bicep and squeezing. Harry knew that Draco had been thinking of the same thing.

Fifty-seven days.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The moon had risen above the treetops and was beginning its journey across the sky. It was getting close to the time that they needed to leave, to return to the castle and their own beds, but Harry didn't want to move at all. The weight of Draco laying half across him was a comfort that he sorely missed when it was gone.

A scuffling noise in the distance and the sudden hush of the normal nighttime noises had them both lifting their heads from their lazy doze. Without speaking, they pulled each other to their feet, took their wands out of their resting places and looked out into the moonlit night, trying to determine if the sounds they heard were a threat or not. Harry pulled Draco behind him and their left hands gripped together, each of their wands level with the other, Draco's taller form watching from over Harry's shoulder.

The noise of the forest rose back to normal levels, but the two boys didn't lower their wands. They stood ready, waiting for whatever it was that was coming towards them. Instinctively they knew that they were the target. Someone or something had found them, possibly discovering their secret.

A sudden burst of movement directly in front of them, followed by a cacophony of screams that could have been animal or human, but which neither of them could tell, startled them both. Draco's hand tightened in Harry's as Harry jerked back, firing off a S_tupefy _that went wild. He became tangled in the discarded cloaks at their feet, lost his balance, and fell heavily against Draco, pushing him to the ground with a violent _thud_. A cascade of bright, white light flared in Harry's eyes, blinding him for a moment, and then the world went dark.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

He was floating on a dark sea, buoyed up in the blackness where there was no reality. No pain, no guilt, no pressure to perform. He was only an existence, a being without cause or effect.

He briefly wondered if this was death, but it was a fleeting thought, barely brushing the non-reality that he was. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He existed. The passage of time was meaningless, it could have been a minute, it could have been a millennium. Breathing was automatic, he felt the air enter and leave his lungs. It didn't matter. Existing, the dark sea, the all-encompassing blackness, these things mattered. These were the _only_ things that mattered.

At some point, he became aware of movement. He was moving on the dark sea. There was an impression of things passing him by as he moved, nearly brushing his outstretched fingers. It didn't matter. He existed, alone, untroubled, unthinking.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

Days. Weeks. Months. Years.

How long had it been? _How long?_ He struggled to think, to regain his sense of self. In between one breath and the next, he realised that he needed to _think._ He needed to do more than _exist. _He could not just float in the dark sea of existence any longer. He needed…he needed…

"Draco!"

Harry's eyes jerked open and he found himself staring at…daylight. The sun was streaming over the tops of the trees, the air was warm with a breeze passing pleasantly over his skin. He tried to move, but all his muscles screamed in protest. Slowly, he turned his head to the left and realised that he was lying on top of Draco and Draco was so pale, paler than normal, and there was blood underneath his head.

Ignoring the agony of his own body, the jarring pain of a terrible headache, Harry scrambled up to kneel over Draco, his fingers feeling along the back of Draco's head, looking for the wound that had produced the blood on the ground.

"Where is it?" he muttered frantically to himself. "Where is it?"

Finally he found it, a shallow cut in the back of Draco's skull about two inches long. It didn't feel like it was still bleeding, but Harry carefully turned Draco's head to the side to see. The wound was dirty and jagged, with hair sticking to the dried blood, but nothing was seeping out of the cut. Harry looked around, trying to locate his wand, but for the moment it eluded him. He ran his fingers along the grass around Draco's body, digging into the dirt in places, breaking a sweat at the thought of having lost his wand.

When Harry's stomach heaved, he stopped. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then took a deep breath, holding it for a count of five. Then he released it and did it again, feeling the beginnings of calm slowing down the rapid beat of his heart and stopping the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind and when he opened them again, he caught a glimpse of the wand, half hidden in the grass. Snatching it up in relief, he placed the tip of the wand at the wound in Draco's head and murmured a sterilizing spell along with one of the healing spells he and Draco had taught themselves over last Christmas, in preparation for disappearing from the magical world. With satisfaction, he watched the cut heal, leaving behind only a small bruise.

"Draco, wake up," Harry said, as his hands roved over Draco's upper body, attempting to verify that there were no other obvious wounds, no broken bones. He put his ear to Draco's chest and heard the steady, comforting _thump, thump_ of his heart.

"Wake up, Draco," he said again, patting his cheeks. "Come on, love, we can't stay here."

He was reluctant to use _Renervate_ on Draco. If he had any internal injuries, the sudden wrench to consciousness could aggravate them and he wasn't well versed enough to fix those kinds of injuries.

Harry's eyes scanned the perimeter of the glade, half-hoping that Hagrid would come looking for them, but there was no one in sight, no irregular sounds were coming from the vicinity of the trees. He could hear the birds chirping and the sounds of small animals making their way through the brush, but nothing else.

He stood up and walked to the edge of the glade, looking down the path that they had used last night. It was about a twenty-minute brisk walk back to Hagrid's hut and he was pretty sure he could run it in about half the time, although he probably wouldn't be able to keep up that fast a pace with his aching muscles and pounding head. He contemplated trying a slow jog, but decided that he did not want to leave Draco alone, not without knowing what had happened last night.

Who or what had found them here? Why had they been left alone in the glade, undisturbed? If it had been any of Voldemort's Death Eaters, both Harry and Draco would have been kidnapped or even outright killed. If it had been Dumbledore or one of the professors, they would have been dragged back to the castle and subjected to endless interrogations.

If it wasn't Death Eaters last night, and it wasn't Dumbledore, then who had it been? The Centaurs wouldn't have left them alone. In fact, none of the intelligent creatures that lived in the forest would have just left them. So what had happened?

"Harry?"

Harry was dragged out of his thoughts by the ragged voice behind him. He ran stiffly back to Draco's side, falling to his knees next to him.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked anxiously, running his hands up and down Draco's arms. "Are you hurt?"

Draco tried to sit up, then groaned and fell back to the ground. "I think I pulled every muscle in my body," he complained. "I have a horrible headache and I feel like I was run over by a dragon."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I feel pretty much the same way. It took me a while to get moving." He put his arms around Draco's shoulders and helped him to a sitting position, letting Draco lean heavily on him.

"What happened?" Draco groaned.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I was just wondering that myself. It couldn't have been any of the professors, or Death Eaters, because they wouldn't have just left us."

Draco shook his head, then stopped with a moan. "No, no-one with any brains at all would have just abandoned us here, unconscious." He reluctantly pushed his feet underneath him and Harry helped him to stand.

Draco was almost a full head taller than Harry was and for a second, Harry was sure that he wouldn't be able to hold him up as they both swayed alarmingly before Draco caught his balance. Leaving Draco leaning against a tree for a moment so that he could get his bearings, Harry retrieved their cloaks and Draco's wand from where it had fallen beneath him. Then he grasped Draco tightly around the waist, hoisting Draco's arm to lie around his shoulder and they slowly started making their way back down the path.

"Maybe Hagrid will have some idea of what it could have been," Harry suggested, trying to steady Draco as he wobbled a bit. "We'll stop at his hut first and let him feed us tea and those horrible rock cakes."

Draco laughed dryly. "His tea is so strong it could wake up the dead."

"But at least it softens the rock cakes so that you can almost eat them," Harry said with a laugh. He thought that maybe he was starting to feel a little better, but then his smile dropped. "I'm not looking forward to explaining to Dumbledore and McGonagall why we were gone all night," he said with a sigh.

"Fifty-seven days, Harry," Draco said softly, grasping the hand that held onto his waist.

"It's morning," Harry replied, his smile returning. "Now it's fifty-six."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Something was not right. The closer they got to the turnoff towards the castle, the more they realised that something was most definitely _wrong_. They had both been in this part of the Forbidden Forest enough to realise that the trees were too short, that large, mature plants that they regularly harvested potion ingredients from were completely missing.

"We're just imagining it," Draco tried to tell Harry, not really believing it himself. "We hardly ever come out here in the daylight."

"No, it's not just the difference between daytime and nighttime," Harry replied worriedly. "Things are in the _wrong place._ And look," he pointed off to his right. "The path that leads to the Acromantula lair is gone."

"There's an explanation," Draco said, but he didn't look convinced. "A _logical _explanation."

Harry nodded and they didn't say anything more about it, but their eyes darted everywhere, taking in all the differences, increasing the worry that they felt, the sense of impending doom. The only thing that seemed right where it was supposed to be was the highest turret of Hogwarts, which they could see over the top of the trees.

At the place where the path bent and would bring them in sight of Hagrid's hut and the rest of Hogwarts, they stopped.

"I'm afraid," Harry whispered, hiding his face against Draco's shoulder.

Draco nodded his agreement, bringing a hand up to stroke Harry's head.

They stood still for a minute, bracing themselves for whatever it was they had to face, then turned down the bend.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to my betas: Badgerlady, who really helps with the spelling and editing and we enjoyed quite the conversation over "English" vs. "Anglaise", how best to describe the overdress and whether or not the conversation about lube should have been included with this chapter or not; and Crescent who is always there to discuss plot holes. I couldn't do it without you both.

As always, I own nothing, JKR owns it all

**Chapter 2**

Hagrid's hut was not there. It looked as if it had never been there. Instead, a rickety lean-to sat in its place, filled with hay and surrounded by a rough-hewn log fence. The fence appeared to be keeping in a large assortment of sheep, goats and chickens. The smell of the animals was nearly overpowering and Draco started to turn an interesting shade of green.

"Breath through your mouth," Harry told him with a slight grin. "It will help."

Draco looked at him strangely, but opened his mouth and panted slightly. He looked panicked.

"What's happened to us?" Draco asked between breaths.

"I don't know," Harry answered, the grin dropping from his face. He did not even want to contemplate that question yet.

"Take deep, slower breaths," he instructed Draco, as he smoothed a hand down Draco's arm to try to calm him. This was a bit hypocritical of him considering that Harry was on the edge of panic himself.

Draco was breathing a bit more comfortably as they started towards Hogwarts, but after a few minutes, Harry started to realise that what little energy he'd had was now gone, and that Draco was leaning on him more and more. About halfway to the main doors of the castle, Harry's legs buckled beneath him, and they both fell into the muddy grass. Distantly, Harry noticed that the ground was not frozen, the morning air not as cold as it should have been.

The heavy main doors of Hogwarts swung open and two women came out, rushing down the steps towards them. Harry lay on his back, feeling wet and mud seeping into his clothes. His vision kept fading in and out and he tried to focus on Draco, who was on his knees above him, panting with exhaustion.

The women knelt next to them and said…something. Harry thought that they might be speaking English, but his brain was not interpreting the words correctly. He looked over at Draco, expecting him to know what had been said, but he looked as confused as Harry.

"What did they say?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "I have no idea."

The women drew back a little, the same looks of confusion on their faces. The one on the right said something else. Harry was certain that it was English, but not like any form of English he'd ever heard before.

"Can you do a translation spell?" He asked Draco.

Draco shrugged, but his shoulders were tense. "I can, but I have to know what language they're speaking." He tilted his head a bit. "It's not French, I know that language."

"No," Harry agreed with him. "It almost sounds like a distorted form of English."

Draco suddenly looked afraid. He gazed at the women for a long moment, and then dropped his eyes to Harry's prone form. "Look at how they're dressed," he said quietly. "It looks like something from…"

"A play," Harry finished, his eyes locked on the woman hovering next to him, his stomach lurching. The women were dressed in long wool gowns that had been dyed in brown and green. They were tightly fitted to the women, giving little room to move, and were topped with an open fronted, sleeveless overdress that looked like it was nothing more than three rectangles of wool, two fronts and a back, sewn together at the shoulders and sides. They had simple squares of linen on their heads with circlets holding them in place.

"We've…we've…" Draco looked like he was going to pass out. "We've traveled. _Backwards._"

Harry nodded slightly, feeling like he was standing in the middle of a vortex, about to be sucked into chaos beyond his comprehension. "It looks that way, although I don't know how it could be possible." Harry was amazed that he was able to sound so _rational_ when his whole world was about to be turned on its head.

Draco clenched his eyes shut and pressed a hand to his stomach. "They're speaking an older form of English."

One of the women leaned over Harry. "Anglaise," she said clearly.

Harry nodded, trying not to show that his life was falling apart. "Yes, English."

The woman smiled, then started speaking at a rapid speed. She stopped when Harry struggled to sit up, placing her hands on his shoulders to help balance him.

"What year is it?" Harry asked, hoping that she would understand. Draco sat next to him, his head bent down, nearly folded into himself.

She shook her head. "Year?" she asked and Harry wasn't sure if she didn't understand, or didn't know why he was asking.

"Yes," he repeated. "Year."

Whatever she said then made no sense to Harry, but Draco lifted his head and looked thoughtful as he tried to work through what she had told them. Suddenly, his face lost all color and he started breathing in short, hard bursts.

"Draco, stop!" Harry cried. "Stop, you're hyperventilating!"

Draco shook his head violently, as if to deny what he had heard.

"Draco," Harry leaned over to him, placing his hands on either side of Draco's face. "Cup your hands around your mouth."

Draco automatically did as Harry told him. "Now, breath. _Slowly._"

After a few minutes, the color started to return to Draco's face and he opened his eyes. Tears began to trickle down his cheeks.

"We are in so much trouble, Harry," he whispered, his voice shaking.

"I know," Harry replied softly, lovingly running a thumb over Draco's wet cheek. "We'll figure it out."

Draco leaned forward and rested his head on Harry's shoulder, shaking with silent sobs as Harry put his arms around him. "What year is it, love?" Harry whispered into Draco's ear. Draco shook his head and cried harder.

"You have to tell me, Draco." Harry pressed his fingers lightly into the back of Draco's neck. "Tell me, so we can work on getting home."

Draco muttered something under his breath.

"I didn't hear you, love," Harry said, desperately trying to hold back his own tears. "Come on, you can do it."

Draco sat up and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, using it to wipe the tears from his face.

"Eleven Hundred Ninety Seven," Draco said clearly, and Harry's world fell apart.

"So," Harry said raggedly, his heart breaking into a hundred pieces. "More than fifty-six days."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The Great Hall was familiar, but empty. The ceiling had the same charms on it, showing the outside sky; a clear blue with wisps of clouds scudding along. Long tables and benches were in the usual places, although these were made from a different type of wood, something light instead of the dark mahogany Harry was used to. He ran a hand over the table, idly wondering _when _in the next eight hundred years they would be replaced.

Draco sat next to Harry at what for them would be the Slytherin table, his face pale but composed. They had both cast _Scourgify_ and that had cleaned the worst of the mud off their skin and clothes, but neither was feeling particularly clean.

Harry watched with worry as Draco pushed the food in front of him around with his spoon, but didn't eat any of it.

Harry leaned over towards Draco. "Eat, love," he whispered. "You have to eat."

Draco sighed. "I know," he said resignedly. "But this," he waved his hand over the food, "is not what I'm used to having."

Harry nodded sympathetically. "You'll have to get used to it, though. It's probably the sort of things we're going to be eating for the foreseeable future."

Harry looked at the long loaf of coarse bread that was split lengthwise and hollowed out, sitting on a large platter. The bread was filled to overflowing with roasted chicken and early summer squash. In a bowl next to the platter were cherries and strawberries from the greenhouses. The only utensils were a sharp knife and a couple of spoons.

Determinedly, Harry picked up a bit of chicken with his hands and ate it. Draco looked disgusted. Smirking at him, Harry did it again.

"Eat," Harry said, pushing the bread bowl closer to Draco with his grease covered fingers. "It's good."

"You touched the food with your fingers." Draco said with a frown.

Harry leered at him. "I've done more than that with my fingers, and you've never minded them in your mouth before."

"Ewww..." Draco exclaimed. "Harry!"

Harry laughed. After a moment, Draco laughed with him.

Draco carefully pushed some of the chicken and squash onto his spoon with the knife and put it in his mouth. He chewed for a minute, and then swallowed.

"It's good," he said with a smile.

"Told you," Harry said, pulling more chicken from the bread bowl.

Draco reached for the goblet that sat off to the side. He sniffed at the liquid in the cup and then wrinkled his nose. "What is this?" he asked.

Harry took the goblet away from him and took a sip.

"Hmmm…" Harry considered the dark amber colored liquid, and then took another drink. "Ale, I think."

"Ale," Draco said in his haughtiest pureblood voice. "What is ale?"

"Ale is an alcoholic drink." Harry took another sip. "It's not bad, I think it'll just take a bit of getting used to."

Draco looked around the table. "Where's the pumpkin juice?"

Harry shrugged and bit into a strawberry. They were extremely tart, not at all like the one's he was used to eating. "No idea, love. Drink the ale."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

A few minutes after they finished eating, a man with long greying hair and a full beard entered the hall. Harry estimated him to be around sixty or so, but with wizards, it was sometimes hard to tell.

He was dressed in wizarding robes similar to what Dumbledore wore, just not as finely woven or as…bright. They were a deep blue, with black stitching around the hem of the sleeves. The robes dragged the ground, making the man look like he was wearing clothing that had been made for a taller person. He headed directly for where Harry and Draco were sitting, standing across the table from them when he arrived.

"May I join you, gentlemen?" The translation spell said to Harry in his ear. It was extremely odd to see the man's mouth move and the words not quite match.

Harry realised he was staring rudely when Draco stood and bowed to the man. He immediately stood and copied Draco's bow.

"We would be honored, sir," Draco said, waiting until the wizard was seated before resuming his seat. The man looked pleased with the boys and Harry was glad that Draco's over-the-top pureblood manners were good for _something_.

"I am Headmaster Brevard." The headmaster looked expectantly at the boys.

"I am Draco Malfoy, sir" Draco said, picking up immediately on the look. "And my companion is Harry Potter."

The headmaster nodded with approval. "You are French, Mister Malfoy?"

"My ancestors are originally from Provence, Headmaster, but my immediate family has lived in Wiltshire for many generations."

Headmaster Brevard turned to Harry. "Mister Potter, Britain is filled with your relatives. I've had the honor of teaching several of them the last two decades here at Hogwarts."

Harry was surprised at the thought of there being people in Britain with the same last name that he might actually be related to. "My parents are dead, sir, and I have no siblings that I know of."

Harry was trying to be polite and look directly at the headmaster's face, but the translation spell was making it difficult.

The headmaster nodded, and then changed the subject. "Mistress Kensington and Mistress Smythson have informed me that you arrived somewhat unexpectedly this morning."

"Yes, sir," Draco replied, twisting his fingers in his lap. "We had some…difficulty…" His voice trailed off.

"Headmaster," Harry interrupted. "We think a spell went wrong and sent us here."

Headmaster Brevard looked at Harry with interest. "Do you know what spell?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir, I didn't hear it, but it's the only explanation I can think of." He cast a glance at Draco. "We were attacked last night in the forest and left unconscious. When we woke, we were here."

"Tell me why you were in the Forbidden Forest last night." The headmaster folded his hands on the table in front of him, an action that strongly reminded Harry of Dumbledore. "It is named that for a reason."

"We had a detention, sir," Harry said, blushing.

"Ah," Headmaster Brevard said, smiling. "I see."

Harry's blush deepened.

"How old are you?" the headmaster asked.

"Ummm…we're not certain, sir," Harry replied. "What month is it?"

"It is nearly the end of July."

"Seventeen then, sir," Draco said, telling the truth about his own age, but not mentioning Harry. The headmaster looked sharply at him as if knowing that he was telling only half the truth, but nodded his acceptance of the statement.

"Headmaster Brevard," Draco said suddenly. "You have not asked us where we came from."

"No, I haven't," the headmaster agreed. "And for now I won't, and you won't tell me."

"May I ask why not, sir?" Harry asked.

"I suspect I know in general how you got here, but for now it's probably best for you not to discuss any of the details regarding where you're from or how you arrived." The headmaster stood and the boys stood with him. "I will supply you with living quarters and will put the entire library at your disposal. Mistress Kensington is in charge of the books and she will help you with any subjects you wish to research. If you are not able to find your answers there before the students return on the first of September, then we may have a more in-depth discussion." He turned to go, then paused, turning back to look at them seriously.

"Many residents of the Wizarding world retain the open attitude carried over by the Romans as concerns…" The headmaster hesitated.

"Well," he said finally, "be discreet. Times are changing, and not for the better."

With that, he left the hall.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The infirmary was only a tiny space, no bigger than Harry's dorm room in Gryffindor. There were only four beds, each with a side table. A potions cabinet sat in the back corner.

"Does no-one ever get sick or injured?" Harry wondered thoughtfully to Draco.

"Maybe they just don't have as many students." Draco was contemplating the potions cabinet with interest. "I wonder who the potions master is here."

Harry made a face. "Don't care, especially if he's anything like Snape."

"Harry," Draco warned. "That's not fair."

"I know," Harry said with a sigh, but then grinned wickedly. "But fun!"

What apparently was the medi-wizard came out a side door. Both Draco and Harry bowed, Harry a beat behind Draco.

"Gentlemen," the medi-wizard said with a tilt of his head. "I am medi-wizard Moore. Headmaster Brevard told me that you had some injuries that needed to be seen to."

"Yes sir," Harry replied. "Mister Malfoy had an injury to the back of his head this morning and both of us were knocked over by a strong magical force and now have bruises and sore muscles."

The medi-wizard looked at Draco's head, while Harry explained what he had done to heal the wound.

"You did well, Mister Potter. There is nothing more that I need do."

Harry bowed his thanks and the two boys left the infirmary with a small jar of salve for the bruises and aches.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Mistress Kensington showed them to the rooms that the headmaster had allocated them. The first room was a small sitting room containing what appeared to be a primitive sofa sitting in front of the fireplace and two hard backed chairs with a small table between them. Off to the right were two tiny bedrooms, each with a modest bed and pegs for hanging their clothes.

"The house elves change the linens and tighten the supports every Saturday." Harry looked confused at this statement, so she showed the boys how the feather-filled mattresses were held in place by tightly laced ropes running through holes drilled in the wooden frames.

After they finished inspecting the bedrooms and Harry and Draco were standing with Mistress Kensington in the sitting room, Draco's eyes suddenly widened with ill-concealed shock. Harry wondered if he had only just now realised that there was no loo, no bathtub. Only a large bucket sat in the corner of each bedroom.

"Mistress Kensington," Draco said with a short bow and a shaky voice. There was a pause, and then he said, "We have no clothing beyond what we are wearing. How will we go about acquiring more?"

Harry knew it was not the question he wanted to ask, but was too embarrassed to voice his true concerns.

She smiled at Draco. "The house elves will provide you with a few sets of clothing. They make most of the clothing that the field workers wear and are more than willing to help you."

Draco kept his eyes lowered. Harry knew it was so that Mistress Kensington would not see the panic.

"Mistress Kensington," Harry said. "I wish to have a bath tonight. How would I go about acquiring one?"

Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Thank you," he whispered to Harry.

Mistress Kensington's mouth quirked up with hastily suppressed amusement. "I will have the house elves bring up a basin and hot water for the both of you."

Harry nodded and then let her out of the rooms with a bow. After the door closed, Draco turned to him, a wild look on his face. "We're not going to _survive _this, Harry." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I can't…I can't live in a place with no _toilet_."

Harry took Draco's hands and pressed them between his own. "We'll be fine, Draco. We have magic and the knowledge of the things we need." Harry gently kissed him and Draco settled against Harry. "We can do this," Harry whispered against Draco's mouth.

Draco nodded helplessly as Harry dragged him over to the sofa. It was short and narrow, but more comfortable than standing. Draco wound his arms around Harry's shoulders and proceeded to kiss the life out of him.

Several minutes later, they were lying on the small, handmade carpet in front of the fireplace, shirts discarded. Harry lazily ran his hands up and down Draco's stomach, loving the feel of the smooth skin.

"You realise," Draco said softly, "that we now have as much time as we need to figure this out?"

Harry looked up at his face. "I don't understand," he said.

"Even if it takes us years to figure out how to get back, we may be able to work it so that we go back to the same time as when we left." Draco pushed the fringe off Harry's forehead, then kissed his scar. "And even if we can't, it won't matter. We were going to leave anyway."

"We can live here, just as easily as we could have lived there," Harry breathed in wonder.

"Yes," Draco said, and then laughed. "Well except for the food, the ale, the bathtubs, the clothing and the _buckets._"

Harry suddenly sat up. "Do you have any Galleons?"

Draco looked confused. "A few," he said. "I always carry fifty or so in a featherlight pocket in my cloak, just in case."

"I have some also." Harry looked excited. "I think I have about twenty, because I was planning on going to Hogsmead this weekend."

"So?" Draco asked. "What difference is seventy Galleons going to make?"

"Don't you see?" Harry grabbed Draco's hand and squeezed enthusiastically. "Things cost much less in this time. A _lot_ less. Seventy Galleons could be equal to several hundred, or even a _thousand_ Galleons in our time."

"So what you're saying is…"

"We need to go to Diagon Alley."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"How good are your Transfiguration skills?" Harry asked, looking at the small tub that the house elves had brought in. It was big enough to stand or kneel in and use the small flannel they had provided to wash, but definitely not big enough to soak.

"Adequate," Draco sneered in a passable Snape-like tone, but then admitted, "but I don't know how well I'd do on something that has to hold water, much less something with water already in it."

Harry sighed. "Do you want to go first?"

"Of course I do." Draco smirked. "If I can't share the tub with you, I don't want to have to try and bathe in dirty water."

"Snob," Harry said, settling back on the sofa and crossing his legs.

"Yeah, well you love me for it," Draco said as he removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the tub, picking the wet flannel out of the water and proceeding to wash as best he could.

"We'll have to see about getting a larger tub when we go to Diagon Alley," Harry remarked, admiring the way the water cascaded over Draco's naked body, gleaming in the firelight.

"Or learn better Transfiguration spells," Draco agreed.

"Yeah, or that," Harry laughed. "While we're at it, we can Transfigure the sofa and the rug. We may as well be comfortable while we're here."

"Is there any _soap_?" Draco whined.

"Well, that at least I can do," Harry replied and waved his wand to create a bottle of liquid soap. "Something I learned last Christmas while we were researching healing spells."

"Why would the healing books have a spell to create soap?" Draco wanted to know while he lathered his hair.

"Sometimes it's not a good idea to use a sterilizing spell on a wound and they tell you how to make soap so that it can be cleaned that way."

"Ah," Draco sighed as he splashed water over his head trying to get rid of the soap in his hair.

"Get out and lean over the tub, I'll rinse your hair for you." Harry came and knelt next to Draco. He scooped the water up in his hands and poured it over his head until all the soap was gone.

"My turn now," Harry said, then sighed as Draco complained about the square of linen that they were supposed to use for a towel. "Stand in front of the fire to dry, you big baby, or use a drying charm," Harry said as he climbed into the tub. "What's the spell to heat the water back up?"

Draco waved his wand at the water, muttered the spell and then said, "Drying charms make my skin feel tight." He stood with his back to the fireplace, steam rising gently from his skin. "Just you wait, something you're not expecting is going to set you off and then I'm going to stand back and laugh."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry smirked. "Get over here and help me, or I'll make you sleep alone tonight."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The salve was lovely. It disappeared into their aches and bruises and left them with a warm, relaxed feeling.

"I think that a good night's sleep will fix whatever's left of our bruises," Harry commented as he scraped the last of the salve out of the jar and rubbed it into the back of Draco's calves.

"Mmmhmmm…" Draco hummed sleepily.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "Don't go to sleep yet!"

"Have something in mind, love?" Draco cracked an eye open to look at Harry.

"Only if you're awake," Harry said, pushing the cork back into the jar and wiping his hands on the damp flannel they had hung over the side of the tub.

"I think I can stay awake for a little while longer," Draco said with a smile.

"Spoken like a true seventeen-year-old," Harry laughed.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"Did you put up the wards?" Draco asked as they settled into one of the beds.

"Of course I did," Harry said, pulling the linen sheet and wool blanket over them. "We have to be _discreet_."

Draco huffed a laugh that turned into a moan. "Oh, yeah, just like that."

"Like that, do you?"

"You know I do."

"Draco?"

"Hmmm…Oh, God, don't stop now!"

"How far have you…"

"Haven't…Wait, come back here!"

"Do you want to…"

"Yes, of course I do, you idiot!"

"Do you have any lube?"

"Oh."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"What do they use here for lube?"

Harry looked up from his contemplation of the soft linen shift that he was holding in his hands. "How am I supposed to know the answer to that?"

"You knew about the food." Draco had his shift on and the morning light streaming in through the window fell on him. The thin fabric of the linen showed the shadowy outlines of Draco's body underneath. He started to put the wool tunic on, pulling it over his head and grimacing at the feel of the coarsely woven fabric.

"No I didn't, I just realised that it was all we were likely to get." Harry resisted the urge to pull Draco's tunic back up so that he could see him in the shift again.

"You knew about the ale." Draco sat on the bed and watched Harry struggling to get the shift over his head.

"I guessed about the ale. It could have been any number of things," Harry said, his voice muffled, his upper body trapped in the shift. Draco contemplated laughing, but settled for helping him pull it over his head.

"Oh yeah, like what?" Draco demanded, smoothing the fabric over Harry's chest.

"It could have been beer." Harry looked at the hem of the shift, falling just shy of his ankles. The shift sat a good six inches higher on Draco, falling just below his knees. Harry sighed.

"Isn't that the same thing as ale?" Draco was now demanding, picking up Harry's tunic, which was a lighter shade of brown than Draco's.

"No, it's beer."

Draco laughed. "How do you know they're different? Have you ever had beer?"

Harry didn't answer, just stuck his tongue out at him.

"Oh, nice one, Potter" Draco said, tossing the tunic to Harry. "Now you can just dress yourself."

"Fine, Malfoy." Harry threw the tunic on the bed. "I think I'll just go out like this."

"You will not!" Draco exclaimed. "I won't be seen with someone who's not properly dressed."

"You think this is proper?"

"Obviously it is for this time and we need to be dressed enough to not be arrested in Diagon Alley."

"Okay, fine." Harry sighed as he picked up the tunic. As he tried to pull it over his head, Draco was behind him helping him fit into the long sleeves.

"This is going on the list," Draco muttered.

"What's going on the list?" Harry asked absently, trying to pull the hem of the tunic down below the hem of the shift. "What list?"

"Lube. It's going on the list."

"Of things we need to buy?" Harry picked up the stockings and started to roll them onto his feet.

"No, of things that are totally screwed up about this time. Like _buckets_." Draco was glaring at his stockings, making no move to put them on.

"Draco, get over the buckets. At least you don't have to empty them." With effort, Harry pulled the stockings over his knees.

"And no pants. It's bad enough not to have trousers, but no _pants_? And what's with the stockings? Men don't wear stockings."

"Obviously they do here," Harry said. "Put on the stockings."

"How do they stay up?" Draco asked, scowling as he pulled them on.

Harry tossed him two silk ribbons.

"Ribbons? The only silk I get to wear and it's _ribbons_ to hold up _stockings_?"

Harry ignored his statement, running a hand over his chin. "Can you conjure a mirror?" he asked.

Draco snorted. "Of course I can, I learned how to do that when I was eight."

"Well, will you conjure one for me now?"

Draco pulled his wand and a moment later, a large mirror was hanging from the wall of the bedroom.

"Do you know a shaving charm?" Harry asked.

Draco looked up in astonishment. "You don't know the shaving charm? How in the world do you shave every morning?"

Harry looked at Draco's reflection in the mirror. "With a razor, of course."

Draco looked confused. "What's a razor?"

"It's like a knife. It's what Muggles use to shave with."

Draco's horrified face appeared behind him. "You shave with a _knife_? How do you avoid cutting your throat?"

Harry shrugged, "Just do," he said, unconcerned. "Shaving charm?" he asked politely.

"Harry, have you learned nothing of importance during your six years at Hogwarts?"

"I learned how to stay alive."

"Oh, right."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"Draco, where did you get a comb?" Harry watched Draco standing in front of the mirror, attempting to make his hair lie flat. For the first time that Harry could remember, Draco's hair was being uncooperative.

"Out of the back pocket of my trousers," he said. "I always carry one."

"I don't suppose you carry any lube?"

Draco sneered at him. "If I did, we'd have used it last night."

Harry blushed.

Draco sighed, "Harry, we really need to figure out the lube situation."

"We could ask the house elves for some olive oil."

"No, we couldn't. We're meant to be _discreet_, remember?"

"Well then, find a spell for it," Harry suggested, huffing with exasperation. "There must be one."

"A spell for lube? Where am I supposed to find _that_?" Draco demanded, giving up on his hair and throwing the comb down on the little table.

"In the library, maybe? I don't know, where did Slytherins go to learn those things?"

"Oh, right, a library smack in the middle of the Dark Ages is going to have a book that teaches a spell for lube." Draco glared at Harry. "And not all Slytherins were sluts."

"I didn't say they were, I just meant that you would know more about how Slytherins did the sex thing than, say, how Hufflepuffs did."

"Ewww…" Draco gagged noisily. "Hufflepuffs having sex, now I need to wash my brain out with soap!"

Harry laughed. "Besides, it's not the Dark Ages, it's the Middle Ages. The Dark Ages were over more than four hundred years before this time. And you never know what you'll find in a book. Remember most of the knowledge in the library is going to be heavily influenced by the Romans."

Draco considered this thoughtfully. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. What are you going to be doing while I'm looking for a lube spell?"

"I'm going to be researching how to get us home," Harry said as he watched Draco trying to get the soft leather shoes on. Finally, he gave up and put on his own shoes. The black leather dress shoes looked ridiculous with the tunic, but Harry supposed it was better that they fit.

Draco looked up from tying his shoes. "Wait, shouldn't we both be doing that?"

"Yes, and we will, just as soon as you find a lube spell."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews!_

_My betas Crescent, who suggested the reason why Hagrid would be able to keep quiet, even though it's not in his nature,_

_and badgerlady who is a major help in keeping me from turning Dumbledore into an unbelievable evil/bad character and keeping him firmly in the grey, where he belongs._

_The are both wonderful and I couldn't do this without them._

_As always, I own nothing beyond my OC's, JKR owns everything else._

**Chapter 3**

"Albus, I din' know wha' happened!" Hagrid cried. He was standing next to Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, dejectedly wringing a huge spotted handkerchief between his hands. The early morning sun reflected off the ice crystals covering the trees and unprotected plants, making them sparkle. "They was' s'posed to be collect'n potions things fer Perfess'r Snape and be back afore curfew. I waited 'til nearly midnight and they jes' din' come back!"

The headmaster and the three professors had just returned from searching for half of the night and were now waiting for the centaurs to bring news.

"It's all right, Hagrid." Dumbledore patted him on the arm soothingly. "We'll find them."

"And just how do you mean to go about it, Headmaster?" Snape snapped. "With Potters _talent_ for getting into trouble, anything could have happened."

Dumbledore smiled calmly. "I'm sure they just fell asleep, Severus."

"_Out here?_" Snape said unbelievingly. "In this weather?"

"It's possible," Dumbledore said, running a hand down his beard. "They may have found themselves in an unfamiliar area and just settled in for the night."

McGonagall closed her eyes in frustration. "If they did, Albus, they will be dead by now. No one could have survived all night in the freezing cold, even with heavy winter cloaks."

"They know warming charms," Albus said.

"Not if they _fell asleep,_" Snape growled angrily, folding his arms across his chest. "Is this another of your bloody _tests_, Albus?"

"Of course not," Albus said seriously, but Snape couldn't see his face and was not convinced that he wasn't _twinkling_. "I would never send Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy out together, much less all night. With the level of their animosity, they would surely end up in some sort of scuffle and possibly injure each other."

Hagrid's face turned an alarming shade of red and he twisted the handkerchief tighter in his hands, but he said nothing. McGonagall looked at him curiously.

"Oh," Snape sneered maliciously, "and how do you know that didn't happen? You know how much Potter provokes Mister Malfoy."

Dumbledore did not respond, and Snape felt like stomping his feet and screaming in Dumbledore's face. Instead, he watched Dumbledore, who was looking down the path that ran along the edge of the trees, as Firenze came out of the forest and trotted up to the headmaster. Dumbledore bowed slightly to him. "Firenze, my sincerest thanks to you and your friends for consenting to assist in this matter. Have you found anything?"

Firenze looked the headmaster up and down. "They were in the glade."

Dumbledore froze in surprise at that information. "They found the glade? Are you certain?"

"Yes," Firenze said calmly. "They arrived at the glade early last night, but did not leave it. Also, it appears that this was not the only time they have visited that particular area."

For the first time since being informed by Hagrid that Potter and Malfoy were missing, Dumbledore looked troubled. "Can you take us there?" he asked.

Firenze did not answer, simply turned back to the trees. The four professors followed after him.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The glade was warm. It felt like summer had arrived early. It also had an abundance of pure magic swirling through the air. Snape thought it was no wonder that Potter had been drawn here. With his innate magical ability, he would have heard the call of the wild magic.

"Does Potter understand at all why he would have been able to find this place?" Snape asked Dumbledore.

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore answered, his eyes twinkling. "I don't believe he realises that he has instinctive magic. And in the slight chance that he does, he certainly wouldn't know how to use it."

"You were counting on this magic to make itself known when it came time for him to confront the Dark Lord," Snape scowled.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered with a smile, beginning to move around the perimeter of the glade. "It would be a great advantage."

McGonagall and Hagrid were staying at the edge of the glade, allowing the other two wizards to inspect the area. McGonagall's arms were crossed and she acted as if she were only barely holding herself back from grabbing Dumbledore and shaking him out of his infuriating _cheerfulness_.

"You do realise that this plan could backfire on you with horrifying consequences?" Snape asked, looking at the white stones littering the ground.

"It is a chance I am willing to take." Dumbledore moved closer to the center of the glade, keeping outside of the area populated by the stones, but treading right up to the imaginary line they drew in the grass.

Firenze looked on from the other side of the glade, with a worried look on his face. "Professor Dumbledore, I believe that you have miscalculated as far as Mister Potter is concerned."

Dumbledore looked up from his perusal of the ground. "How so, Firenze?"

I believe that Mister Potter's instinctive magic has interacted with the magic of the glade. I can feel the residue of the two colliding."

Dumbledore's eyes stopped twinkling and he looked concerned. Severus snorted at the look. "Can you tell what the results of this interaction was, Firenze?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, I cannot." Firenze moved towards Dumbledore. "I will need to study the area."

"How long will you need, my friend?"

"I cannot tell you. A few days, maybe a week."

Dumbledore nodded. "Please do your best, Firenze. We must do all we can to retrieve Mister Potter."

"And Mister Malfoy also?" Snape growled unhappily.

Dumbledore looked at Snape. "Ah, yes, him too."

Dumbledore's careless disregard of Draco infuriated Snape. "He's just incidental to the whole affair, isn't he, Albus?" Snape snarled. "You couldn't care less if he returns as long as you retrieve your _Saviour_."

"Now, Severus…" Dumbledore began, but Snape just turned and strode out of the glade without a backwards glance. McGonagall watched him go, a worried look in her eye.

"That was uncalled for, Albus," McGonagall said reprovingly.

"But not necessarily untrue, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly. "Mister Malfoy is not _necessary_ to fulfill the prophecy."

"That's all Harry is to you, isn't he? A means to an end, so that you can fulfill that ridiculous _prophecy_." McGonagall was quivering with rage.

Dumbledore seemed to realise that he had made a grave error and held up his hands in supplication. "Minerva, you must understand. Tom must be destroyed and Harry must be the one to do it."

McGonagall just glared at him.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Snape responded to the knock at the door of his private quarters by flinging the door open with a snarl. "What is it, Minerva?" he growled, trying to block the doorway.

McGonagall pushed past him and strode into the room without an invitation. "Close the door, Severus, we need to talk."

She settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fire. Snape disappeared into the tiny kitchen and returned a few minutes later with tea. She took the cup he offered with murmured thanks.

"Do you have any portraits in this room, Severus?" she asked, looking around at the nearby walls.

"No," he replied. "I moved them all to an empty room years ago. You know they will tell Albus everything. Gossips." Snape sat across from her, a glass of firewhisky in his hand.

"Severus, do you know why Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy were out in the Forbidden Forest last night?" McGonagall sipped her tea, watching Snape over the rim of her cup.

"I believe they had detention with Hagrid." Snape looked back at her impassively. "He came to me yesterday morning asking if I was in need of any potions ingredients that could easily be gathered on the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

"Do you know how many times those two young men have had detention together with Hagrid since they came back from the Christmas holidays?"

McGonagall patted her mouth with the serviette, while Severus thought for a minute. Finally he shrugged.

"I can't say that I do, Minerva. I do not keep track of all of my students' detentions, only the lower years. If Hagrid had come to me and said that Draco was misbehaving, or hadn't shown up for a detention, then I would have noted it and discussed it with Draco." Snape took a sip of the firewhisky.

"Eight times." McGonagall watched as that information sank in. After a moment, Severus's eyes widened with shock.

"All of them on purpose, I'd wager." Snapes hand shook as he took a gulp from the glass. "Dear God," he muttered. "Eight times."

"You understand what this means." McGonagall was grave. "They are together."

Severus nodded, feeling somewhat lightheaded. Suddenly Draco's actions over the last few months made sense. "Do you know what they were planning?" he asked. After Dumbledore had mistakenly showed his true intentions to Snape, he had no doubt that somehow the two boys had also found out, and were planning to do something drastic.

"I have no idea what they intended to do. I don't think even Hagrid knows and he was helping them."

"This must be the reason why Draco would not talk to me about his mission," he sighed. "He was not planning on completing it."

"No, you're right, he probably wasn't going to finish it. But then again, I sincerely doubt that he was working on it in the first place." McGonagall finished her tea and set the cup aside. "There was a time in September at the very beginning of term that Mister Potter was found by various people, including several portraits, sneaking out of Gryffindor tower. This occurred five or six times over a two-week period. Mister Weasley and Miss Granger could not understand why. Not that he was sneaking out, but that he had been _caught_ doing it. They said that he never went out at night without his invisibility cloak with him."

"He gave it to Draco," Snape realised suddenly. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"That is the conclusion that I have come to," McGonagall agreed. "Otherwise, you probably would have known about Mister Malfoy being out and about at the same times as Mister Potter."

"How long have you known about this?" Snape asked.

"Known?" McGonagall mused. "I do not _know_ even now. I only suspect because of what I have heard from Miss Granger and from behaviour that Mister Potter has displayed." She tilted her head in contemplation. "I have _suspected_ since just after the Christmas holidays when Mister Potter started getting detentions from Hagrid. He has never done that before, and I cannot imagine that Hagrid would ever give Mister Potter a real detention for any reason."

"How much does Albus know?" Snape clenched his hand around the glass in anger.

"I don't think he realises," McGonagall said calmly. "Hagrid has been unusually discreet."

Snape smirked. "Well, it appears that miracles do happen."

"Severus, be kind," McGonagall admonished him calmly, and Snape scowled at her. "I think that maybe Hagrid gave the boys a Wizards oath not to speak of their relationship," she continued. "He seemed to want to say something this morning when we were waiting for Firenze. I was surprised that he didn't as he's not usually so reticent, until I thought about it later."

"That's definitely a possibility," Severus replied. "Mister Potter would have known of Hagrid's inability to keep any secret, especially from Albus, and asked him to do a Wizards oath. I imagine that the only thing the oath would do is keep Hagrid from speaking about the two boys unless they were late returning from detention, as happened last night."

"It is likely," Minerva agreed. "I wanted to ask Hagrid outright, but perhaps it's better if I don't."

"What are we going to do?" Snape turned his gaze to the fire as if it would yield up answers.

"For now? Nothing." McGonagall stood, smoothing down her robes. "I am going to put out some feelers to a couple of people whom I trust to be circumspect at Gringotts and the Ministry. I believe that the boys have had outside help and hopefully I'll be able to find out who."

"Why do you suspect someone of helping them?" Snape stood with her and walked her to the door.

"Mister Potter has been sending a great many letters out this year. During a normal school year, he usually sends very few as he has no outside friends to speak of." McGonagall put a hand on Snape's shoulder. "I will keep you informed. I trust you'll afford me the same courtesy."

Snape nodded. "Certainly."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The news that Firenze delivered a few days later was not good news. Snape sat at the Head Table in the Great Hall with the other professors and listened as Firenze explained his findings and conclusions.

"Without further study, which will take months," Firenze began, "I can only tell that a collision of magic removed them from the glade. They stepped within the perimeter of the stones—whether accidentally or not, I cannot tell. Mister Potter's magic collided with the magic of the glade and they were sent away."

"You do not know where they were sent to, Firenze?" Dumbledore asked.

"Headmaster," Firenze replied. "I believe it is not a matter of where they were sent, but a matter of _when_."

McGonagall gasped. "You mean that they were sent to a different time?"

Firenze nodded. "Yes."

McGonagall made a strangled noise, and then cleared her throat. "Have they gone forward or backward?" she asked hoarsely.

"Forward is extremely doubtful, Professor." Firenze said thoughtfully. "My guess is that they were sent backward, and not a short period of time. I have consulted with my herd and with the stars and I am convinced that it is likely that they were sent back centuries."

Snape felt sick to his stomach and abruptly put his teacup down on the table.

"Will they be able to return?" Dumbledore raised his hands and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. It showed the blackened fingers on his hand to everyone in the room and Snape was fairly certain he'd done it on purpose. Snape almost suspected him of trying to hide a smile.

"It is possible," Firenze said "But it will all depend on Mister Potter and his magical ability. He will have to harness his instinctive magic. Then he will have to learn how to control it and use it. Then he will need to learn how tocontrol the magic in the glade. It could take him years, and there is every possibility he may never be able to manage it."

Snape glared at Dumbledore. "If you had not withheld that information from him, Albus, we would have more hope. Now all we have is the vague chance that he discovers he has this ability in the first place and then learns how to control it." His face tightened with fury. "You're asking for the impossible."

Firenze nodded his agreement.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"What are we going to do, Albus?" McGonagall asked after Firenze had left. "Is there any way we can help?"

"I think we will begin by consulting the library," Dumbledore answered, his hands folded on the table in front of him. "It may be that they are mentioned in a book, or even that they left a magical signature on one of the older scrolls or parchments."

"You're joking, Headmaster," Snape snapped. "Both of those boys have been here at Hogwarts for nearly six years. They have been in the library countless times. It is likely that half of the books in the library have some trace of their magical signature on them."

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. "That is true, however I believe that if we limit our search to the restricted section and possibly to books with mentions of traveling through time along with those in the back of the library that are older than five or six hundred years, we may be able to reduce the parameters of the search."

"Still," McGonagall protested, "You're talking _thousands_ of books, with no guarantee that we can do anything to help them even if we find proof of where they are."

"I realise that," Dumbledore said, standing up from the table. "But until someone comes up with a better plan, this is the one we're going to proceed with. Minerva, it may be a good idea to ask Miss Granger to assist you. She has unique research skills and will be particularly motivated."

McGonagall was so pale, she looked as if she might faint, but nodded. "Yes, of course Albus, I'll speak to her this evening. We are going to need all the help we can get."

Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Severus, is there anyone you can think of that would be willing to help with the research?"

Snape growled angrily in the back of his throat. "What makes you think I want to help you with this madness at all?" He quivered with suppressed rage. "You are the one who implied that Mister Malfoy was of no consequence. Is that supposed to motivate me to _help_ you?"

"Severus, I do apologize for my…unfortunate statement." Dumbledore gazed at Snape, his eyes faintly twinkling, as if he were trying to suppress some kind of emotion and not quite achieving it. "Please believe me when I say that I am equally as anxious to retrieve Mister Malfoy as you are."

"I don't," Snape snarled. "I don't believe you at all. You have made your position clear and it's too late to undo it." He turned away and headed for the doors to the hall, his robes billowing out behind him. He stopped just before reaching them. "I will help you," he said without turning around. "But only on my _own _terms." He exited the hall and the doors slammed shut behind him, shuddering with the force of the anger contained in Snape's magic.

"Albus," McGonagall murmured. "You have done tremendous damage to this situation."

"I know, Minerva," Dumbledore sighed. "It's going to take a bit of work to repair it."

"A bit of work?" McGonagall snorted. "Honestly, Albus, I don't think any amount of work is going to fix this."

"I have to try," Dumbledore said. "We need his help with this."

McGonagall folded her arms tightly across her body and looked away in disgust.


	4. Chapter 4

****_A/N: I've changed the rules for apparating somewhat in order to fit the story._

_Thanks to my betas, Crescent and Badgerlady, without whom I could not properly do this._

**Chapter 4**

The Great Hall was empty again and Harry found the quiet a little unsettling. He missed the noise of the students, maybe even the sound of Ron gobbling everything in sight. Then again, maybe not.

The two boys sat at the same place they had the day before and within a few seconds, the food appeared in front of them.

"It's nice to know that the way the house elves operate is the same," Draco said, pulling his wand and conjuring a serviette, which he settled on his lap.

Harry snickered. "Is the only magic you know having to do with pureblood manners stuff?"

Draco looked down his nose at him. "Manners are very important. I'm not going to walk around all day with greasy fingerprints on my clothes." He waved his wand again and another serviette appeared, draping over Harry's head.

"Prat," Harry said in an amused voice, pulling the serviette off his head and spreading it on his lap.

"As I've told you before, it's part of why you love me," Draco said loftily with a haughty look on his face. After a second, his mouth quirked and he chuckled, ruining the effect.

Harry looked at the large wooden bowl filled with porridge sitting between him and Draco. On a separate platter were slices of dark rye bread and goat cheese. A large goblet of milk sat off to the side. Harry assumed it was goat's milk, as they hadn't seen any cows in the collection of animals yesterday.

Harry picked up one of the spoons, contemplating the sticky mass in the bowl. It was gently steaming, and the top was decorated with a thin swirl of honey. "I wonder if it's normal for the food to be shared like this?"

Draco shrugged, pouring some of the milk from the goblet into the bowl of porridge before digging his spoon in and taking a bite. "At least it tastes like regular porridge," he said after he swallowed, then took another spoonful.

"I don't usually like porridge," Harry said, reaching around the bowl and pulling the platter of bread and cheese closer to him. He put some of the cheese between two slices of the rye bread and took a bite.

"As you so gleefully told me yesterday, it's likely all we'll get, so you need to eat it," Draco said smugly.

"Hey, I wasn't gleeful," Harry exclaimed. "Just realistic."

Harry ate a spoonful of the porridge, grimacing somewhat, then took a drink of the milk to wash it down. "Ugh," he said, sticking his tongue out. "The goat's milk is nasty."

"Sorry," Draco said, not sounding sorry at all.

"I want tea," Harry said mournfully.

"_That's_ what's missing!" Draco cried. "Where's the tea?"

Harry put his head in his hands. "I don't think there is any," he said in muffled voice.

"No _tea?_" Draco whispered in a horrified voice, dropping his spoon with a _thunk_ on the table. "That's worse than _buckets_. Why is there _no tea_?"

"I don't think it's made it here from China, yet. I remember one of the teachers from my Muggle Primary school saying that tea didn't come to Britain until the fifteen hundreds or so."

"Oh God," Draco moaned, putting his elbow on the table and covering his eyes with his hand. "We are going to _die_."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Half an hour later, they stood at the entrance to the headmaster's office, staring at the stone gargoyle blocking the stairs.

"I'm willing to wager my comb that the password's not the name of a sweet," Draco said snidely, poking a finger at the statue's nose.

"No," Harry said, snorting a laugh. "I would imagine that your comb is safe." He reached out and pulled Draco's finger away from the gargoyle. "Don't do that, he might bite you."

"We could stand here all day and never get in," Draco said scornfully. He contemplated the gargoyle for a moment longer, then turned and walked away. "Let's go to the library and see if Mistress Kensington is there. We can ask her about using the floo."

Harry hurried after Draco. "That's a good idea," he said. "It will give us a chance to see what the library looks like."

"We'll ask her when the regular meal times are also," Draco replied. "That way we won't end up eating alone all the time."

"I wonder how many people are actually here in the castle during the summer?" Harry mused. "I doubt there's too many, so we may wind up eating by ourselves anyway."

They stopped at the top of the stairs and waited for the staircase to the fourth floor to swing around. Harry absently took Draco's hand, winding their fingers together.

"Harry," Draco said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. "I don't think we're supposed to do that in public."

Harry looked startled and pulled his hand back. "I forgot."

"I know," Draco said. "It's easy to do, especially since there's no-one here." He looked at the wall behind them, to find three portraits gazing at them with interest. "But the portraits are paying attention."

"Nosy old things," Harry said with a huff, turning around to sneer at the portraits, making Draco laugh.

"Stop that," Harry said grumpily.

"Who are you talking to?" Draco asked. "Me or the portraits?"

"Does it matter?" Harry turned back to watch the stairs finally coming their way.

They made their way quickly down the stairs before they could change direction again.

"We need to find someone to teach us to apparate," Harry said as the two of them approached the doors to the library.

There are probably a dozen or more things that we need to do in the next few days," Draco replied. "What we _really_ need is some parchment and ink so that we can make a list and a schedule."

"Okay, Hermione." Harry smirked.

Draco glared at him. "You do realise that I'm the one that's going to be learning the elusive lube spell, Potter."

Harry burst out laughing. "Yeah, but you're not going to hold _that_ over my head!"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "And why not," he asked in a nasty tone of voice, although his mouth was twitching with humor.

Harry managed to stop laughing, but the wide grin remained. "Because _you_ would end up suffering right along with me."

"Humph," was Draco's only reply. Harry snickered and barely stopped himself from taking Draco's hand again.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The doors to the library were closed, but not locked or warded. Draco pulled the door open and Harry preceded him inside. They stopped just inside the doorway and Harry felt tears spring to his eyes. He swallowed the urge to cry.

"Oh," he breathed in awe.

"Yeah," Draco said quietly beside him. "It's exactly the same."

It wasn't _exactly_ the same, Harry noticed, but close enough that the sense of being _belonging_ made him lightheaded and ache with homesickness. Slowly Harry started moving forward, with Draco at his side. He brushed his fingers along the edge of the desk where Madam Pince always sat, glaring at the students as if daring them to hurt one of her precious books.

The tall shelves stuffed with books and scrolls were the same, the tables scattered around the room were the same. The only difference that Harry could see was that instead of individual chairs, there were benches on either side of the tables.

He turned to Draco and saw the same look of wonder, the same _longing_ that he felt. The other parts of the castle that they had been to so far were familiar, but there were enough differences that they had been able to push away the sense of déjà vu. Now it was hitting them, hard.

On closer inspection, they discovered that the books on the shelves were much older than they were used to and obviously copied by hand. Harry gently took one down and opened it. The illustrated letters and lively drawings in the margins made him smile. A drawing of a wizard waved enthusiastically at him and he waggled his fingers at it, and then laughed softly at himself.

"I don't remember anything like this in our library," he said, running his fingers lightly down the script, almost afraid to touch something so elegant.

"Books like this would have been stored in the back of the library," Draco said, looking over Harry's shoulder at the book he was holding. "New books are bought to replace old ones all the time and the old books are moved out of the main area. Even self-updating books are eventually replaced." He reached a hand out around Harry and turned the page. "I asked Madam Pince about it once when I was researching the origins of a spell for Arithmancy and was looking for a scroll that was written in Latin. She told me that the ancient books and scrolls are stored in rooms away from the books that are more widely used and the temperature is kept much lower to preserve them. I'm pretty sure that Granger and a few Ravenclaws are the only ones who have been in that area more than a few times.

"How are we going to read these?" Harry was suddenly aware of the fact that he didn't understand a single thing that was written on the page. That meant they had a bigger problem than just needing a translation spell to understand spoken Middle English. "Do you know a spell to translate the books?"

Draco idly turned another page of the book in Harry's hand. "I know one, but it's for translating Latin and meant to help you learn the language. It's also supposed to assist with understanding the theory behind creating spells." He looked thoughtful. "I think I could adapt it, but it's going to take some work." He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead onto Harry shoulder. "This is just marvelous." He sighed with aggravation. "Bloody great."

"Nothing is going to be easy, is it?" Harry asked gently, reaching up to stroke Draco's hair, not caring for the moment if anyone saw them. "We've got time, love," he whispered. "You said it yourself. All the time we need."

Draco snorted and then turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into the soft skin at the base of Harry's neck. "You're forgetting one thing, Potter," he said softly.

"What's that?" Harry asked, shivering at the feel of Draco's lips.

"Lube."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"We should just talk to the medi-wizard, he might be able to get us some." Draco whispered urgently. They were standing in the back corner of the library, trying to keep their voices down as they argued.

"You know we can't," Harry hissed. "It would get back to the headmaster."

"I don't care," Draco said sullenly.

"You will care if he decides to put us into separate living quarters, or asks us to leave Hogwarts entirely." Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "You're just going to have to settle for the hand-jobs and blow-jobs. It's what we've been doing up until now anyway."

Draco sighed with exasperation, looking away from Harry.

"We were waiting for the end of term to do that anyway, before we wound up here," Harry said quietly. "What's changed, love?"

"We're sleeping in the same bed, that's what's changed." Draco grasped Harry's upper arms and shook him lightly. "I don't want to wait for who-knows-how-long before we find a spell that will allow us to read the books, so that we can find a spell for the _lube_."

Harry huffed a breath that made his fringe flutter. "I don't want to wait, either, but I don't see how we have any other choice. I refuse to use spit for our first time."

Draco sat at the nearby table and put his head into his hands. Harry stood behind him, his hands stroking Draco's shoulders.

Harry stilled at a sudden thought. "Do you think that Diagon Alley will have an apothecary?"

Draco nodded. "I'm sure they will." Then he raised his head, tilting back to look at Harry. His eyes were gleaming. "I could go in by myself since I'd know what to look for."

"Yes," Harry agreed.

"We'd have to be extremely careful, though." Draco's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Severus told me once that the apothecaries in the past were not always honest and would make potions that were well below any kind of minimal standards. Many of them were missing ingredients and would either do nothing or cause harm. It's the reason why so many pureblood families have their own potions lab."

"Well we really wouldn't need anything fancy," Harry said, smiling down at Draco. "Or even actual lube. Really, the olive oil I mentioned earlier would work."

Draco smiled as he leaned his head back against Harry's chest. "Yes," he murmured with satisfaction. "I knew I'd figure it out. I'm sure that I didn't before now because of the lack of _tea_."

"That has to be the reason." Harry laughed softly, pressing a kiss to Draco's forehead. "Let's find Mistress Kensington," he whispered. "We need to go."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Mistress Kensington was sitting behind the front desk when the boys emerged from the back.

"Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter," she said pleasantly, looking up from the parchment she was writing on. "I'm pleased to see you. I expect that you have settled satisfactorily into your rooms?"

"Yes Mistress Kensington," Draco replied. "Thank you for asking. I trust you are doing well?"

"I am well Mister Malfoy," Mistress Kensington said. "Thank you for your kind inquiry."

Harry barely contained a snort at the extreme formality and Draco shot him a look that Harry couldn't interpret. Harry rolled his eyes at him.

"We were wondering if it would be possible to use the floo to travel to Diagon Alley." Draco stepped a little closer to the desk. "We have some items that we wish to purchase."

Mistress Kensington stood, gracefully smoothing the front of her gown. "I'm sure that the headmaster will allow it." She led them back out the doors of the library.

"Have you not learned to apparate?" she asked as they waited for the stairs that led up to the headmaster's office.

"No," Harry replied. "We weren't old enough at the time we…left. We would have been taught later this year."

She looked surprised. "Surely you're both over fifteen," she said.

Draco's mouth dropped open for a second, and then he closed it with a snap. "Where we…lived…we were required to be over seventeen and in our last year at school," he answered in a slightly strangled voice.

Mistress Kensington looked confused. "How would you have traveled during the summer months then, if you couldn't apparate?" she asked.

Harry threw a wild look at Draco as both of them realised that there was no Hogwarts Express. Trains were six hundred years in the future.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mistress Kensington," Harry said. "Wouldn't the students' parents come for them?"

She looked at him oddly. "Students are adults at fifteen, Mister Potter. Most of them are required to marry and many have children before they are sixteen."

Harry felt completely out of his depth and was more than a little horrified at the thought of having children at _sixteen_. "I…I…" He swallowed. "Things are somewhat different where we come from." _That_ was a gross understatement, Harry thought.

"If the students are married," Draco wondered, "where do they live during the school year?"

"In the family quarters," she replied. "Where you are living now." The stairs settled and they started up. "You are in one of the Ravenclaw family rooms that during the school year would house two couples without children."

Harry couldn't believe that four people would live in the tiny rooms they had been given. It would have been like trying to fit two people permanently into Dudley's second bedroom. That was a nearly unimaginable thought.

"Who watches the children during classes, Mistress Kensington?" Draco asked curiously.

She looked surprised at his question. "Why the wives do, of course."

"Don't the women go to class also?" Harry asked faintly. He was almost afraid to hear what the answer would be.

"No," Mistress Kensington said. "Women do not continue their education past the fifth year. They are needed to raise the children."

"Granger," Draco whispered to Harry and Harry nearly strangled himself trying not to laugh.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Headmaster Brevard smiled pleasantly at the two boys and Harry was grateful that his eyes were not twinkling. Even though the headmaster's robes were nearly funereal compared with Dumbledore's, there was just something about Headmaster Brevard that reminded Harry of the other wizard. _Twinkling _would have been far too much for Harry to accept.

"You are more than welcome to use the floo to the Leaky Cauldron," the headmaster said after Mistress Kensington had explained the situation and left the office.

It had been a relief to know that the inn was in existence now. So much was different about this time and Harry had been hesitant about mentioning something that might not have been built yet. Draco had taken the matter out of his hands and asked about it himself.

"May I ask what you're planning on acquiring?" Headmaster Brevard stepped out from behind his desk and led them over to the fireplace.

"We are in need of writing supplies for our research, as well as a few personal items, Headmaster," Draco replied smoothly.

"I trust you have money?" The headmaster looked at Harry.

"A bit," Harry replied, taking one galleon out of the pocket of his cloak. The headmaster looked confused at what Harry said as if the translation spell didn't know how to translate "a bit" to Middle English.

Harry had three galleons in his cloak, and Draco had the rest secreted away in his featherlight pocket. They hadn't wanted to leave any of their funds in their room, but didn't want to attract pickpockets either. "Do you think that this will be enough to get what we need?"

"More than enough, I would imagine," the headmaster said. "I'm glad to see that you didn't arrive completely destitute."

"No sir," Draco said politely. "We have a small amount of funds that we hope will see us through the foreseeable future." It wasn't a lie; in their time the seventy galleons they had was a very small amount.

"Good." The headmaster took a small pot of floo powder down from the mantle. "If you have any trouble finding what you need in Diagon Alley, please let me or Mistress Kensington know about it. We are quite self-sufficient here and we may be able to provide some things that you can't get elsewhere."

Harry couldn't stop himself from thinking of lube. From the look on Draco's face, he was thinking the same thing.

"Thank you sir," Draco said, looking away from the headmaster for the first time. "We'll let you know if we need any help."

Headmaster Brevard looked over the boys' clothing before handing them pot of floo powder. "Your cloaks are acceptable," he said kindly, "although they are too finely made as compared to the rest of your clothing. However, you will need to put a glamour on your shoes. People will notice them and ask questions." He raised his wand. "Do you mind?"

Harry felt a little sick. Ever since the end of fourth year, he absolutely hated other people pointing their wands at him.

"Of course not, Headmaster," Draco replied calmly, surreptitiously putting a hand on Harry's back and pressing his fingers into Harry's skin. Draco knew Harry's feelings on the matter. "We appreciate your assistance."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks to my beta's Badgerlady and Crescent, I couldn't do this without them._

_If you're interested, I used the map of Diagon Alley at HP Lexicon for this chapter._

_Please review! Reviews are always welcome._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the original characters. JKR owns everything else.  
><em>

**Chapter 5**

The Leaky Cauldron was in the same building, but that was where the similarities ended. The tables and benches were rough hewn and filled with splinters. The floor was nothing more than packed dirt and the inn reeked of alcohol and unwashed bodies.

"Gah," Draco gagged as he stepped out of the floo behind Harry. "What _is_ this?"

Harry was breathing through his mouth. "This is the Leaky Cauldron."

"Oh, this is _awful_." Draco exclaimed. "Is this what inns are like now?"

"I don't kn…" Harry's answer was cut off as Draco grabbed his arm and they hurried out of the inn and through the back door to the courtyard. They came to a halt at the sight of Diagon Alley laid out in front of them. The wall that blocked the Alley off in their own time was missing, there was no barrier between the magical and Muggle world.

"Um…How do they keep the Muggles out?" Harry asked, looking back at the door to the Leaky Cauldron as if expecting wards or barriers behind him. There were none to be seen.

Draco's eyes were wide as he looked down the main street of Diagon Alley and he nudged Harry to get his attention. "This is so…wrong."

Harry turned to look and his mouth fell open. The apothecary's shop stood in the normal place on the right hand side of the street, a wooden structure with narrow slots for windows. There was no glass in the windows, only the shimmer of magic that kept out the heat and the bugs. Harry suspected that magic was the only thing that kept the building in one piece. It reminded Harry strongly of the Weasleys' house.

There were other buildings of similar construction next to the apothocary, but the thing that had caught Draco's attention was the fact that Quality Quidditch Supplies was not there. Where the familiar building would normally have stood was a cart loaded with large baskets of peas, cabbages, onions and beans. A swayback horse was hitched to the front of the cart, contentedly eating the grass, and a man dressed in a patched tunic, and no shoes stood beside of the cart. He was calling out to the passers-by, trying to entice them to buy his summer vegetables.

"When was Quidditch invented?" Harry asked.

"About two hundred years before now," Draco said in a rather choked voice. "They called it Queerditch Marsh at first. There's a whole section on it in _Quidditch Through the Ages_."

"I read the book back in first year. Ron lent it to me," Harry said. "I just couldn't remember when the game was invented. I never considered the idea that there would be nothing to sell yet."

"Well, someone has to make the brooms."

"Or maybe they make their own," Harry laughed. "I can see some wizard charming his wife's broom so he can play."

"You can't play on a household broom, Potter," Draco said snottily. "They have to be made specifically for travel."

"Well then, where's the shop?" Harry demanded.

"Not here, obviously," Draco answered.

Finally, Harry dragged his gaze away from the man and his cart. "Well, it's not like we'll have the time to play anyway," he said a little sadly. He turned to look at the apothecary's shop. "Do you want to go there first, or last?"

Draco considered the shop. "First, I think. That's likely to be the place we spend the most money, so we can get a feel for costs there."

"Do you want me to wait out here?" Harry asked as they approached the front of the store.

"It's probably a good idea." Draco nervously rubbed his hands down the rough fabric of his tunic.

Harry nodded agreeably. "I'll stay right outside. Call if you need me to come in." He leaned closer to Draco and whispered. "It will be fine, you know what you're doing. I would just be like a bull in a china shop." He handed Draco two of the galleons he had in his cloak. "Hopefully this will be enough," he said.

Draco nodded absently as he shoved the money into a pocket, his gaze never leaving the store.

"What is it, love?" Harry asked in a low voice. "What's wrong?"

Draco wrenched his eyes away from the store and looked at Harry. "I'm just finding it a little difficult to adjust to how different it all is," he admitted. "The library started it and I can't shake the feeling that everything is wrong." Harry knew exactly how he felt.

"I know, but you can do this." Harry brushed a hand up Draco's arm. "I'll be right here." Draco drew in a deep breath, fingered his wand that was hidden in a pocket of his cloak and then took the steps up to the front of the shop. Harry watched him go with a worried look on his face.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Harry stood outside the shop for over an hour, watching people go to and from the Leaky Cauldron. Most of the men were dressed in wizard's robes, but a few wore tunics similar to what Harry and Draco were wearing. Harry wondered if it denoted a class system, or it was simply a matter of what each person could afford. He received several odd glances from wizards walking by and figured it was just the fact that his cloak didn't fit with the rest of his clothes. He looked down at the sensible leather shoes that he usually wore with his Hogwarts uniform and was glad in retrospect that the headmaster had put a glamour on them.

There weren't as many women as there were men on the street and they were all dressed in the same fashion as Mistress Kensington and Mistress Smythson. None of the women were unaccompanied. Some were walking with a wizard that Harry assumed was her husband, others were followed by house elves. Nearly all of them had children. One woman had eight children ranging in age from a newborn in her arms to a young man of ten or so. Three house elves walked with the chattering children, trying to keep some control over them and failing as one or another would suddenly run off to look at something interesting.

It was the only the second time Harry had seen house elves in this time. Like the elves that had brought in their bath, they wore lengths of linen instead of tea towels, tied with rope around their waists. Otherwise, they were exactly the same as any other house elves Harry had met at Hogwarts in his own time.

The children were another matter altogether. Most were dressed in the same clothes as their parents, which for the girls Harry thought had to be horribly uncomfortable, with the tight fitting bodices and the long heavy skirts. Few of them acted like children, the large group that had walked by earlier was the one exception. Most looked like miniature Luciuses with their heads tilted up and their noses in the air as if they smelled something bad.

Harry shook his head. Purebloods. He idly wondered how the Muggleborns got to Diagon Alley and how their parents dealt with the fact that their child was magical. He knew that the views of witchcraft could be extremely bad during this time, especially with the Catholic Church having such a stranglehold on the Muggle world. Maybe, he decided, he didn't want to know after all.

Harry was beginning to get fidgety when Draco finally emerged from the apothecary's shop with a loosely woven basket on his arm, filled nearly to the brim with various ingredients knotted in squares of plain, un-dyed fabric. He looked much better than when he had gone in, as if the familiarity of potions ingredients had settled him.

Harry eyed the contents of the basket with interest. "What did you get?"

"Hopefully, I got the ingredients for a simple lube," Draco said. "If we get a cauldron and a few other items, we can work on creating our own."

"I suppose that's better than trusting that the apothecary is going to sell us something useful. Is it going to take that many ingredients?" Harry asked, poking a finger at one of the knots.

"Stop that!" Draco said as he pushed Harry's hand away. "Not all of them are for the lube. I also bought some rose hips and chamomile along with a few other herbs and leaves."

At Harry's confused looked, Draco sighed. "Tea, Harry. We can use those ingredients to make tea."

"_Real_ tea?" Harry asked, a smile lighting his face.

Draco laughed at the delight in Harry's eyes. "No, it won't be a proper black tea, but it will certainly be better than goat's milk."

Harry's face fell, but then shrugged it off. "Do you have any of the two galleons left?"

Draco pulled one galleon, a sickle and a half dozen knuts out of his pocket. "I couldn't believe the prices. I'd have spent more than ten times that much back home." He put the money back in his pocket. "They even had some ingredients from plants that are extinct. Severus would have gone crazy in there."

Harry looked at Draco suspiciously. "That's the second time you've called him Severus. How come you're allowed to do that?"

"He's my godfather," Draco replied. "I thought you knew that."

"I should have known." Harry laughed. "If I called him anything other than Professor Snape or_ sir_, I'd have detentions for a year."

Draco snickered. "That's probably true, although I would never call him Severus in public. If I had, I'd have ended up in detention with you."

Harry dipped his head and smiled shyly at Draco. "I'd have liked that," he murmured, nudging the toe of his shoe up against Draco's foot. "We could have played footsie under the desk."

Draco's face turned red and he choked out a cough, "_Footsie_, Potter?" he sputtered.

Harry shrugged with embarrassment. "It's what the girls used to call it."

Draco turned up his nose. "Just in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a _girl_," he said in a disdainful voice.

Harry leaned into Draco. "I've noticed, Malfoy," he whispered in what he hoped was a sexy tone.

Draco turned an even brighter shade of red and quickly turned away from Harry to look up the street. "Did you happen to see a blacksmith anywhere near here?"

"No," Harry said, laughing at Draco's blatant attempt to change the subject. He reached over and took the basket from Draco. "But I haven't gone any farther up the street than this, why?"

"Hopefully, we'll be able to purchase a cauldron, a couple of mugs or goblets and a pot to make the tea."

"I'm surprised that you didn't buy a cauldron in the apothecary," Harry said looking at the objects hanging in the narrow windows behind Draco. "He has several different kinds."

"His cauldrons were disgusting," Draco said haughtily. "They were poorly made and the bottoms were too thin and not uniform. I wouldn't waste our money on those."

"What if we can't find a suitable one somewhere else?" Harry asked.

"We'll figure it out." Draco shrugged lightly. "Let's get the rest of the things we need."

They walked slowly down the street, looking in the windows to see what each shop was selling.

"I didn't know that you knew how to make lube," Harry said after a few minutes of silence, his fingers brushing against Draco's as they swung at his side.

"I don't, exactly," Draco admitted. "But what the apothecary had in his shop was suspect at best. A number of the salves smelled as if they had been made with rancid grease. I had to be really careful when I was picking out ingredients, some of what he had was stale or hadn't been picked properly."

"So how are we going to make the lube?" Harry wondered.

"I know a general base that is used for a lot of rubs and salves, and I thought we could start there." He looked at Harry with an apologetic smile. "It might take a few days to get it right."

Harry laughed softly. "So, no more arguments?" he teased, hooking his little finger around Draco's for a moment before letting it go.

"Oh," Draco said loftily. "I can't promise _that_."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

They weren't in the stationer's shop for long, They quickly discovered that as far as ink, quills and parchment went, very little had changed in eight hundred years and they walked out of the stationer's with enough writing supplies to hopefully last several months shrunk into one of Harry's pockets.

Flourish and Blott's looked the same on the outside, but once inside the doors, they saw a dozen wizards sitting at two long tables. They were waving their wands and making copies of a central book page by page. At the end of the table two additional wizards bound the books. When Draco asked the man who stepped up to help them, they were told that books were sold on an as-needed basis. Creating books for the Hogwarts library took up most of the shop's time, as the students were not allowed to purchase their own. Personal books had to be ordered weeks in advance, possibly months, and were extremely expensive.

"We're going to have to rely on Hogwarts library almost exclusively." Harry said as they left the store.

"I can't believe that they don't allow students to buy their own books," Draco replied.

Harry shrugged. "I imagine if someone came in with enough money, they'd be more than willing to sell to them. My guess is that all the students are expected to write their own notes and memorize most of what they learn."

"I can see that with Charms or Transfigurations," Draco said. "But it would make Arithmancy and Runes enormously difficult and potions can be very tricky. Brewing from memory can be dangerous. Even Severus won't do it."

"Which probably explains the apothecary," Harry said as they stopped in front of the robe shop. "Do we want to buy robes?"

"Of course I want new robes," Draco said, but then sighed. "But it's probably best not to. As long as the house elves will provide us with clothing, we should do that."

Harry considered for a moment, looking at the longing in Draco's face. "We ought to think about one set of robes, at least. In case we have to attend a function or something." Draco's expression brightened at Harry's statement.

Inside the store were a few robes on wooden stands, but nothing like the selection they were accustomed to at Madam Malkin's. The clerk who approached them wore a disdainful expression. "Can I help you?" he asked in a superior tone.

Draco immediately turned on all of his pureblood attitude. "We are looking for robes," he said glaring at the clerk as if he were a bug.

The man looked at Draco, obviously reevaluating his assumption that they were penniless. "I have not seen you before," he said slowly. Harry wondered what he was thinking.

"We have only just arrived in the area," Draco said, waving a hand negligently. "We require new robes."

The clerk led them over to a display of plain wool robes done in the same type of fabric as the tunics they wore. "These would be suitable," he said.

Draco sniffed contemptuously. "Those are _not _acceptable. Do you have silk?"

The clerk's eye's nearly popped out of his head. "Silk?"

"Yes, silk, you pompous little moron," Draco said, looking down his nose at him and Harry had to turn away to keep the laughter from showing on his face. From the look on the clerk's face, the translation spell had translated "moron" to something foul.

"You can't afford silk," the man spat out, not moving from his spot.

Harry turned back to see Draco leaning into the man's face. "What we can or cannot _afford_ is none of your concern. You will show us the robes I desire to see and then my companion and I will decide what it is we wish to buy. _Not you_."

Without another word, the clerk stiffly turned and led them over to the display for silk robes.

After looking at several different styles of robes, a hurried consultation between Harry and Draco in the front corner of the store had Draco stealthily digging the required four galleons out of the featherlight pocket, while Harry tried to casually angle his body to block the clerk's view. They left the shop having purchased two sets of linen robes and one set of heavy silk robes each, along with four under-robes, silk stockings and a good supply of ribbons. The clerk also listened with a confused look as Draco ordered several sets of knee length light linen pants for both of them, describing in detail how they should made.

"We'll send one of the seamstresses over to Hogwarts in a day or so for a fitting of these um…pants and final approval. The finished robes and other items will be delivered then," the clerk said.

Draco was extremely pleased.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

They passed by Gringotts without going inside. A few doors down from the bank, they discovered the blacksmith and in short order had two cauldrons that Draco declared as passable, a handful of stirring sticks, goblets and a pot for tea. After that, the two boys wandered down to Ollivander's and found it to be unchanged. Even the shelves and boxes inside looked the same. The only thing different was the wizard who came to the front of the store. He looked a little like an older version of their Mister Ollivander, with the same hair and eyes.

"Good afternoon, I'm Master Wandmaker Ollivander. Can I help you find a wand, young sirs?" he asked.

Draco bowed. "No, thank you, Master Ollivander, we already own wands. We are new to the area and had heard of your fine establishment and wanted to see it for ourselves."

"Ah," the older Ollivander smiled. "I have travelers coming in quite often. I recognise your translation spell, although I don't think I know what language you are translating to."

Harry smiled at him, but neither of the boys said anything. After a pause, Master Ollivander asked, "Do you mind if I take a look at your wands?"

Draco looked at Harry with concern.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Harry muttered to Draco.

"I didn't think of him possibly asking that," Draco whispered back. "What do you think we should do?"

Harry shrugged. "Show him the wands, I doubt he's going to know where we came from just from those."

Draco pulled out his hawthorn wand and handed it to. Master Ollivander looked it over with interest. "This is a good wand. Hawthorn, ten inches, with Unicorn hair. Very nice." He handed the wand back to Draco.

After a moment's hesitation, Harry handed him his wand. Master Ollivander looked up at him in surprise. "This is a very unusual wand," he said. "Phoenix feathers are extremely rare." He gave Harry his wand back and Harry pocketed it quickly.

"Thank you for allowing me to see your wands," Master Ollivander said as they were leaving the shop.

Draco stopped at the door, then turned back to Master Ollivander. "Sir," he said hesitantly. "Would you know how to modify a translation spell for written Latin to have it translate a different language?"

"Well," Master Ollivander's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "That's an interesting question. I don't know at the moment, but I may be able to find something that can help you."

"I would be most grateful," Draco replied.

"Where are you staying?" Master Ollivander pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Hogwarts," Draco said. "If you would address the letter to Mister Draco Malfoy and Mister Harry Potter, it will reach us there."

Master Ollivander nodded and slipped the parchment into a pocket. "I will see what I can do."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The biggest surprise of the day for both of the boys came as they were making their way back to the Leaky Cauldron to floo home. In front of Gringotts, two older wizards who were accompanied by their wives, met in the middle of the street. Harry and Draco watched in astonishment as both of the men hugged vigorously and kissed each other on the cheeks as the women chatted a few steps away. Then the two men linked arms and proceeded into the bank.

"Just what exactly do you think the headmaster meant by _discreet_?" Harry asked, looking wide-eyed at Draco.

Draco smirked at him. "After that display, I suspect it meant not having sex on the tables in the Great Hall."

Harry laughed and took Draco's hand.

"Harry," Draco suddenly asked after a few minutes of walking in thoughtful silence, fingers twisted together, "Have you ever read any of the books on Merlin, or the Knights of the Round Table?"

"No," Harry said. "I tried once, but I just couldn't get through it. Hermione read them, of course, and she told me a little about the stories. She couldn't believe how the men would cry and hug and kiss each other and generally act like girls…oh," Harry's surprised look made Draco laugh.

"Yeah," Draco said, squeezing Harry's fingers. "We should have figured that one out earlier."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Please review!_

_Thanks to my wonderful, amazing beta's Crescent and Badgerlady!_

_Disclaimer: I own only my original characters. JKR owns everything else._

**Chapter 6**

Snape sat in his office, a large book open on the desk in front of him. He had been staring at the same page for some time, but the words had stopped making sense long ago. He had reached the limit of the amount of Pepper-up potion he could safely ingest and the crash his body was starting to go through was going to be spectacular.

He put his head into his hands and pressed his fingers into his forehead, trying to compel the words in the book to make sense. The page blurred and the words swam together. He closed his eyes and then had to force them open again. It was so hard to keep them open, so easy to close them. His head dipped and he jerked it back up, dropping his hands to the desk.

Two weeks. It had been two long, anxious and frustrating weeks and they were no closer to discovering what had happened or where the boys had gone. He and several students including Granger, Blaise Zabini and a half dozen Ravenclaws had spent nearly every moment in the evenings and in between classes scouring the back rooms of the library looking for _something_. They were using a spell that Dumbledore had taught them to help translate the different languages the books were written in, desperately searching for a mention in a book somewhere about Draco or Potter. Madam Pince, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had performed spells over each book, looking for a whiff of either Draco's or Potter's magical signature lingering amongst the thousands of other signatures on the books. They had gone over nearly half the books that were five hundred years old or older and they had found nothing so far. It was as if they had never existed.

Dumbledore, as he did at the end of each day, had thrown them out of the library with orders to eat dinner and rest. Granger had been in tears again, begging to stay just a little longer. When McGonagall had discovered that she was sneaking back into the library at night with Harry's invisibility cloak instead of sleeping, Madam Pomfrey had forced a Dreamless Sleep potion down her throat and sent her to bed, Weasley carrying her as she mumbled incoherently on his shoulder.

Snape had gathered up a few books and left for his office. Dumbledore could force him to leave the library, but he couldn't make him sleep. He hadn't counted on his own body rebelling against his determination to continue the research.

Snape blindly put his hand out to pick up his teacup, but instead wound up knocking it onto the floor. The sound of breaking china barely registered through the exhaustion and he stared dumbly at the spot where the teacup had been sitting.

"Sir?" Someone was speaking. A hand was touching his shoulder. "Sir?" The hand was shaking him. He had a sudden urge to hex whoever it was, but couldn't find the energy to lift his wand.

"Let's get him to bed." A different voice broke over his consciousness and he tried to use it as an anchor to keep him from falling asleep. Female, the voice was female. He felt more hands on his arms and then they were lifting him from his seat, guiding him away from the desk. He made an inarticulate sound of protest and tried to turn back to the desk.

"Now, Severus," the female voice was saying. Minerva, it was Minerva. "You're no good to us in this state. You're going to sleep if I have to dose you with Dreamless Sleep myself."

"No," he said raggedly. "Need to…"

"Sleep," McGonagall said. "You need to sleep. You can start again in the morning."

He felt the bed underneath him. Someone was removing his shoes and covering him with the blanket.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Zabini," McGonagall was saying as the door to his bedchamber closed.

Sleep pulled inescapably at him and with a final sigh, he gave himself up to it.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Snape opened his eyes to see McGonagall sitting in the chair next to the bed, one of the books from the library on her lap.

"Minerva," he rasped, raising his head from the pillow.

"Welcome back, Severus," she said, inclining her head and smiling at him as she set the book on the bedside table.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked as he pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold on the bottoms of his feet. He looked down at himself and saw he was still wearing the clothes he'd had on when they had forced him into the bed. He picked up the glass of water that someone had set out for him and took a long drink.

"Nearly thirty-six hours," McGonagall replied, standing and reaching out a hand to help him to his feet.

"What?" he gasped. "Why didn't you wake me?"

She pushed him in the direction of the shower. "You obviously needed the rest. Go shower, we'll talk when you're clean.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

McGonagall was sitting at his small dining table when Snape emerged from the shower. Breakfast sat under a warming charm and he gratefully sat, helping himself to eggs and toast.

"What's the news?" he asked after his hunger had abated somewhat.

"I think I may have found who was helping Harry and Draco." She pushed her empty plate to the side and refilled her teacup, adding milk and a tiny bit of sugar.

"Who is it?"

"Their helper is Bill Weasley," she said, sipping her tea. "I can't confirm it absolutely because he's apparently under an Unbreakable Vow, but he's done everything other than admit it to me directly."

McGonagall handed him a stack of parchment. "These are the letters. The last two are the most telling."

Snape looked over the letters; a few were from different Ministry officials, including Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, along with several from different goblins at Gringotts. The majority of the letters stated that they had no knowledge of any plans involving Messrs Potter and Malfoy.

The second to last letter was interesting and Snape set his teacup aside to give it his full attention.

_11 April, 1997_

_Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall  
>Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry<em>

_Professor McGonagall:_

_In response to your letter dated 9 April, 1997 I am unable to confirm the existence of a separate vault that may have been established by Messrs Potter and Malfoy in January of 1997. I am also unable to confirm that any or all of the Black Family Vaults were emptied and closed in January of 1997, or that any funds from these vaults were transferred to a Muggle bank in London._

_I am also unable to confirm that an Unbreakable Vow might have been given between the aforementioned parties and one of our wizards employed at Gringotts Wizarding Bank as a curse-breaker._

_Please forgive me for my inability to help you in this matter and I wish you every success in the return of the aforementioned parties._

_Griphook  
>Account Manager<br>Gringotts Wizarding Bank  
>London<br>_

Snape snorted with amusement. "Can't confirm anything, can he?"

McGonagall smiled. "Of course not, they have privacy laws that they have to uphold. We wouldn't want them giving away secrets." She nodded at the parchment. "Take a look at the last letter."

Snape set the letter from Griphook aside and picked up last piece of parchment in the pile.

_12 April 1997_

_Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall  
>Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry<em>

_Dear Minerva:_

_I know that you have spoken to my parents, but please let me reiterate that I will do everything I am able to in assisting you in the search for Harry and Draco. My family and I are desperate for their return._

_It is with deep regret that I am obligated to tell you that I am unable to help with some of the questions asked in your letter of 11 April 1997._

_I cannot tell you whether or not Harry and Draco came to me over Christmas break to ask for assistance in leaving the Magical world at the end of their sixth year. Nor can I tell you whether or not I took an Unbreakable Vow to keep silent about anything they may have asked me to do, including the possibility of locating a flat for them in Muggle London, opening a Muggle bank account or transferring funds from Gringotts to said bank. Anything you may have heard on those subjects is pure hearsay and you should take it as such._

_I am sorry that I am unable to help further with those questions. _

_I can tell you, however, that my father, along with a few of his colleagues of our mutual association has undertaken a quiet search at the Ministry for any paperwork or information that might have been filed there in reference to Harry and Draco. It may help in the efforts to locate the time period that they were sent to._

_Please let me know if there is any additional information that I can deny._

_William Weasley  
>Curse-Breaker<br>Gringotts Wizarding Bank  
>London<br>_

Snape sputtered with laughter. "Oh, that is priceless," he exclaimed. "I would have expected this sort of bending the truth from a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor."

"It is rather sneaky of him," McGonagall agreed. "However, it concerns me greatly that he was helping the boys to escape from the Wizarding world.

Snape nodded, the laughter leaving his face. "Do you have any idea of why they were planning to do something this drastic?"

McGonagall gazed at him for a moment. "Think about it, Severus. Albus has placed a tremendous amount of pressure on Harry. Miss Granger has spoken to me several times in the last two weeks about how Harry was furious with the headmaster for the games he was playing with him. That Albus was withholding information from him even after he had promised not to."

Snape looked down at the letter again. "They were going to escape from the headmaster and the Dark Lord and leave the Wizarding world to look after itself."

"Can you blame them?" McGonagall sighed. "Albus has been putting everything on Harry's shoulders. He could have had a group from the Order looking for the Horcruxes when he found out about them years ago, but he's expecting Harry to do it. He could have told him the entire prophecy at the end of his second or third year, prepared him for the war. Instead, he waits until Sirius is dead and Harry is possessed by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named."

Snape set the letters aside. "I've warned Albus for over a year that he has been handling this the wrong way from the beginning. Mister Potter should never have been raised by those Muggles. He should have been placed in a magical household from the start and told the truth about his heritage. Maybe not told everything when he was a young child, but he should have been given the majority of the information once he started Hogwarts."

Snape avoided mentioning anything about his part in Harry's life. He realised now, when it was possibly too late, that treating him as if he were James Potter and agreeing to the headmaster's manipulations had made Snape a petty, vengeful person. It made him into the person he had always accused Sirius Black of being. That along with the fact the Draco had turned to _Harry_ instead of Snape made Snape ashamed of himself and determined to do everything he could to make up for it.

McGonagall smiled sadly. "Albus is reaping what he has sown with those two young men. He discounted Mister Malfoy from the start, projecting his father's mistakes onto him and not trying hard enough to save him. And Harry…Albus has tried so fervently to manage Harry and all the events in his life that he has lost sight of the fact that Harry is a young teenage boy from an abusive home."

Snape stroked a finger over the letter from Bill Weasley. "None of us should be surprised that the two of them turned to each other and yet we are." He looked at McGonagall. "We should have been paying closer attention."

McGonagall stood and gathered her letters. "There's no sense in regrets, Severus. We'll just have to go on from here."

"Well, that's the problem isn't it?" Snape replied bitterly. "We have no idea where we're going _to_."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Dumbledore sat behind his desk as Snape waved his wand over his hand. When he had finished casting the stasis spell on Dumbledore's hand and Dumbledore had drunk the potion that he had brought, Snape sank into the chair next to the fireplace, looking at Dumbledore across his desk.

"There's nothing more I can do, Albus," Snape said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "The curse is breaking through the stasis spell more quickly each time I cast it."

Dumbledore sighed and looked at Snape. There was no twinkle in his eyes. "How much longer?"

Snape shrugged. "A couple of months, maybe. I can't be certain."

Dumbledore stood and came out from behind his desk. "Then we must double our efforts to find Harry. Once we know when he was sent to, we can work on bringing him home."

Snape scowled in anger at Dumbledore once again dismissing Draco, but said nothing about it. It was too late to try to change Dumbledore's opinion on that subject. Instead, he attempted to focus on what he considered just as urgent as the search for Potter.

"Albus, you _must_ bring in more people to search for the Horcruxes. You cannot leave this until after you are dead."

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry…"

"Is _not here_," Snape interrupted. "He may never be here again. We have to behave as if he is gone forever and take care of things ourselves."

Dumbledore did not look at Snape as he walked to the door of his office. "I cannot think that he will not be returned to us. Too much rests on him."

Snape growled harshly. "Albus, you are a _fool_. You must stop believing that Harry is the answer to all your problems and start taking care of it _yourself_."

Dumbledore paused to think, and then nodded, his shoulders slumping. "Perhaps you're right, Severus. Maybe I should talk to Miss Granger and Mister Weasley…"

"No!" Snape shouted, jumping to his feet. Dumbledore looked up at him in shock. "No more manipulating children, Albus. Find some _adults_ to do this job, or I _will_."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus, I can't. Harry is supposed to do this. He has to be the one."

"No he doesn't!" Snape insisted. "You may believe that Mister Potter has to kill the Dark Lord in the end, but he doesn't have to be the only one to destroy the Horcruxes."

"But the prophecy says…"

"Screw the prophecy, Albus!" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't talk to you. Your blind devotion to this prophecy is going to kill us all, but I for one am not going to stand by and allow it to happen."

"What do you plan to do, Severus?" Dumbledore asked quietly, his back turned to Snape.

"I don't know yet," Snape said, pushing past Dumbledore to the stairs. He looked back at Albus. "Have you forgotten that I'm under an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa to complete Draco's task for him? That complicates things enormously." Snape exhaled sharply. "I don't even know what his task was, beyond finding a way to kill you. If the Dark Lord finds out that Draco is missing, his wrath will come down full force on me for not finding a way to prevent it. It won't matter to him that I didn't know that what happened to them was even possible in the first place."

Snape deliberately did not mention that Draco had not even begun whatever task he had been ordered to do, or that he and Potter had planned to escape the war.

"If I have to, I'll wait until you're dead, and then take over the search myself." Snape turned to head down the stairs to the main corridor. "Have you thought about that, Albus?" Snape called back over his shoulder. "Once you're dead, your control and manipulations will end. It will then be left to the rest of us to clean up the mess you've left behind." Snape impatiently pushed the gargoyle out of the way and stalked down the corridor leading to the library.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

"Kingsley," Snape said as he entered the office of the Head Auror the next day. "I need to speak to you."

"Of course, Severus. Have a seat." Kingsley Shacklebolt waved his wand and a chair trotted over to where Snape was standing.

"Please don't be offended by my request," Snape said once he was seated, "but will you give me a Wizard's Oath that nothing I say to you here will leave this office?"

Kingsley nodded. "Yes, of course." He raised his wand again. "I swear that nothing we discuss today will be repeated by me to anyone who doesn't already know." Magic swirled around the two men for a second, then dissipated.

"Thank you," Snape said, folding his hands in his lap. "No one else knows this, but Albus is dying," he said bluntly.

"What!" Shacklebolt gasped in horror, abruptly falling back against the back of his chair.

Snape nodded. "The damage to his hand is from a Dark curse to which there is no known counter curse. I have been partially successful in confining it to his hand since it happened at the end of last summer, but it keeps breaking through the stasis spell, even with the backup potion he's been taking. The curse is getting to the point where I won't be able to stop it and within the next few months it will kill him."

Shacklebolt closed his eyes for a moment, his face clenched with grief. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at Snape. "Why are you telling me this?"

Snape paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "Albus has been searching for some artifacts that belong to the Dark Lord which he has hidden in unknown locations. It was one of these items, a ring that first belonged to the heirs of Salazar Slytherin, that caused the curse to the headmaster's hand. Albus had been training Harry to take over the search, but now…" he shrugged.

"Harry is gone and Albus is not willing to give the search to anyone else," Shacklebolt finished for him.

"Yes," Snape replied. "I've tried to talk to him about it, but he is…resistant…to bringing anyone in. He keeps insisting that Harry will return and continue the search."

Shacklebolt sighed. "Yes, that sounds like Albus." He leaned forward in his chair. "So tell me what we're looking for."

Severus looked at Shacklebolt for a long moment, then asked, "Have you ever heard of Horcruxes?"


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Please review! Reviews are a wonderful thing to receive._

_Thanks to my betas for their hard work. I couldn't do it without them._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except for original characters. JKR owns everything else._

_12/06/12: Thanks to an anonymous reviewer who pointed out that I had made a major mistake with the Catholic Church's stance on the ownership of books. Many thanks to my beta Badgerlady for helping me edit this chapter and providing the source for me to verify the information.  
><em>

**Chapter 7**

The homesick feeling was not as overwhelming when Harry entered the library this time, but still it was there, bringing the sharp sting of tears to his eyes. He stood still for a moment, gathering himself and blinked the tears away. When he felt composed enough, he turned to look for Mistress Kensington.

She was not at her desk, so Harry slowly walked the stacks, peering down each aisle. He stopped briefly at the head of one aisle to marvel at the seemingly endless number of scrolls, neatly rolled and tied, and stacked precariously on the shelves. They looked as if, at any moment, they would all suddenly fall to the floor is an endless tide of parchment and ribbon.

Harry found her near the back wall of the library, sorting books. Idly he wondered how the books got out of place when no students were here to move them. He'd seen no ghosts yet, although he was fairly certain that the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron had lived prior to this time. There was no telling if Peeves existed yet.

"Mistress Kensington?" The address was formed as a question as he approached her.

"Mister Potter, how nice to see you this morning," she replied as he bowed slightly to her. "How is Mister Malfoy?"

"He is doing well, thank you for asking," Harry said with an inward eye roll. Draco had drilled him on the manners thing last night, but it was going to take some getting used to. "He is working on some research in our room."

"How may I help you this morning?" she asked, turning back to the books lying on the table next to her.

"I was wondering if you had any books that would help to teach someone how to read." Harry watched as she placed the last of the books onto the proper shelf and then walked with her towards the front of the library.

"Certainly," she replied. "Most of those born to Muggles and a few of the poorer purebloods and half-bloods have had little education when they arrive at the school. We spend a good portion of their first year helping them to learn reading and basic maths."

"Is that why the students are not allowed to purchase their own books?" Harry asked as they walked.

"Part of it is for that reason," she said. "However, it is extremely difficult for Muggles to own books. Any copies of books are produced solely by the Catholic Church and are prohibitively expensive. Most of the Muggleborns parents are too poor to afford them, or to send their children to the Monasteries to be educated beyond the bare basics. Also once a child starts to exhibit accidental magic, they can be cruelly persecuted and most parents tend to hide the children away until they are sent here. After that, we have discovered that sending the students home with any type of book on magic, or a book that does not support Church doctrine can lead to serious consequences and sometimes death.

"What happens to the Muggleborns outside of school?" Harry was both fascinated and horrified with this information.

"Normally, those born to Muggles are removed from their families as soon as they turn eleven and placed with pureblood families. Most times, the parents of the Muggleborn are glad to see them go. The pureblood families become responsible for the care of such children and their schooling." She paused at a shelf and took a book down, then placed it on a different shelf, carefully aligning it with the other books. "Sometimes the children are removed sooner if they start to manifest a great amount of magic early, or are under threat of death from their families," she said as she started walking again. "There are some that we do not reach in time." She looked sadly at Harry. "I think it is a much safer world you come from," she said.

"In some respects, yes," Harry said. "Where I am from, most of the danger to Muggleborns comes from pureblood wizards, rather than from the family of the Muggleborn or the Church." He carefully made no mention of the fact that widespread literacy – with the end of dependence on the Church to preserve books – would change the European world when the printing press was invented. It was one thing for her and the headmaster to suspect that they had come from the future, another thing entirely for Harry to confirm it.

Mistress Kensington led him down an aisle near the front of the library. "I assume that you already know how to read?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I just need to learn how to read your version of English."

"Do you want to begin with the alphabet, or start with whole words?" She pulled three books off the shelves and set them on the nearest table.

"Best to begin at the beginning, I think," Harry said as he picked up one of the books and opened it to the first page.

"That is a book that assumes you are familiar with the alphabet," Mistress Kensington said, looking over his shoulder. She turned back to the stacks and pulled two more books. "These teach the basic alphabet and beginning words."

He picked up all five books. "If you don't mind, I'll take all of these to begin with."

"I have no objection." She led him to the front of the library. "Usually we only allow the books out for two weeks at a time," she said, making a note on a parchment of which books he had. "Since there are no other students here, you will be able to keep them until September first."

Harry smiled. "Thank you," he said. "Would you allow me to ask for your help, should I need it?"

"Most certainly I will allow it," she replied. "I occasionally help students when their tutors are not available."

Harry hugged the books to him as he left the library. He felt almost as if the books were a promise that he and Draco could find a way home. He just had to learn to read.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Learning the alphabet was both easier and harder than Harry had expected. He lounged on the newly expanded sofa in their sitting room, the book held in front of his face as he went over the letters in his head. There were only twenty-three, and Harry found that extremely odd.

"When do you suppose that J, U and W were added to the alphabet?" he asked Draco, who was kneeling in front of a cauldron suspended over the fire in the fireplace.

Draco looked over at him with an astonished look on his face. "They're not there now?"

"Apparently not." Harry put the book down and went to kneel behind Draco, pressing his chest to Draco's back. "How's it going?"

"Slowly," Draco said, peering into the cauldron again. "The last two batches were useless and this one isn't looking much better."

"Who'd have thought that lube would be so difficult to make," Harry said, looking around Draco to see the bubbling liquid in the cauldron.

"Well, I for one wouldn't want to put anything inside of me that's going to burn or itch." Draco gave the mass in the cauldron another stir, pulled it off the fire and set it to the side. "I need to leave it for a couple of hours to cool, then I'll know for sure whether this one is for the bin or not," he said as he dragged Harry back to the sofa.

Harry didn't ask any further as to why the potion wouldn't work, he really didn't feel like listening to a lecture on the properties of this or that plant. While Draco's potions lectures weren't as boring or irritating as Snape's, Harry was still not interested.

Draco stretched out on the sofa, twisting to lie on his side, and pulled Harry back against his chest. "Show me the book," he said, working his fingers up under Harry's tunic and caressing his hip.

"I'm not going to be able to concentrate with you doing that," Harry groaned, pushing back into Draco.

"Fine," Draco grumbled and stilled his movements, but didn't remove his hand from Harry's hip.

With a sigh, Harry picked the book up and opened it. Study now, he reminded himself. Sex later.

"We need a desk," Harry said after fifteen minutes of trying to memorize what the book was telling him and being totally distracted by Draco's breathing against his neck. "I want to take notes and I can't do that on the sofa."

"We could try to make the table larger," Draco said. "We were successful with the sofa."

"You have to stop feeling me up first," Harry said, grasping Draco's hand and moving away.

"Fine, spoil all my fun," Draco growled, pushing Harry off the sofa.

"Hey!" Harry landed with a thump on the floor. "What was that for?"

Draco stood up laughing and then held a hand out to Harry. Harry grasped it and let Draco pull him to his feet.

"You want a larger table, don't you?" Draco asked.

"Prat," Harry murmured, drawing his wand and pointing it at the table.

The little table fell apart with a clatter of legs when they tried to enlarge it. Draco muttered _"Reparo",_ putting it back together.

Harry crawled under the table to look at where the legs were attached to the table. "I don't think it will handle being enlarged at all," he said. "The joins don't look strong enough."

"What's the problem?"

He stood, brushing off his tunic. "It looks like it's only being held together by a couple of pegs and some basic construction charms. Even if we managed to enlarge it, I wouldn't trust it to hold any weight."

Draco looked thoughtful. "Shall we go find someone to ask for a desk?"

Harry nodded. "I don't know why they don't have desks in here in the first place; it seems rather odd seeing as this is a school and students need a place to study."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Once they had permission from the Headmaster to add a desk to the room, it took half a day and the help of a house elf to find a desk that Draco thought would work. Most of the student desks were nothing more than tables similar to what was in their room. After describing what they wanted to the house elf for the third time, the little creature led them to a dusty storage room in the basement, where an odd collection of furniture, tapestries and books was stacked haphazardly.

"It looks like a smaller version of the Room of Requirement," Harry said softly, grimacing with distaste.

"Yeah," Draco agreed with a shudder. "Let's find a desk and get out of here."

They finally found a large, suitable desk in one of the middle rows, and with a snap of its finger's, the house elf sent it to their rooms.

"Thank you," Harry said to the house elf as they left the room, and the house elf disappeared with an astonished look.

Draco sighed and lowered his face to Harry's the top of Harry's head. "I never thought to see something like that again."

Harry wrapped his arms around him and laid his head on Draco's shoulder. "At least there was no vanishing cabinet."

Draco laughed shortly. "God, I couldn't have handled that. Destroying the one in our time was hard enough."

Harry squeezed Draco tightly. "I know, love."

The walk back to their quarters was silent.

"Do you think Mother got away?" Draco finally asked as they arrived at the door to their rooms.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "Bill was supposed to contact her if something happened to us and get her to the safe house early. I assume that the fact that we disappeared entirely would qualify as 'something happening'."

Getting Narcissa Malfoy to safety had always been one of the weakest points in their plan. She could not be told what they were planning, or even that Harry and Draco were no longer enemies, for fear that Voldemort would find out. However, once they had the beginnings of an escape plan in place, Draco had been insistent that they not leave Narcissa to certain death. Once Draco's failure was known, it was certain that Voldemort's anger would be taken out on the elder Malfoys. The idea had been for Draco to contact his mother at the last minute with a plea to meet and then take her via portkey, willing or not, to a safe house that Harry had set up.

"I hope he did," Draco said, his face filled with misery, and Harry nodded with sympathy.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The desk was placed in a corner, underneath the one window in the room, taking up quite a bit of space. They had cleaned it and strengthened the joins, making sure that it was in no danger of falling apart. It had no drawers, so all of their parchment, pens and ink were now stored neatly in the little cubbyholes that ran down the sides.

Harry liked the desk; it was convenient to work at, especially when Draco was helping him with the writing. It was great to store all their supplies and it was large enough to spread out all their research, along with the books. There were two large candles at each corner so that they had plenty of light to see by at night.

Harry hated the chairs. They were hard, narrow and high-backed. Tomorrow he was going to work on transfiguring them.

"Harry?"

"Hmmm?" Harry hummed absently as he puzzled out another word in the book in front of him, writing it down on the parchment.

He was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace. His wand was glowing warmly from a low level _Lumos,_ propped up next to him on a stack of books. The tunic and stockings were gladly abandoned, tossed over the back of the sofa, and he was dressed only in his wrinkled, sweat-stained shift and new pants. He liked the pants, they were loose and comfortable, although the drawstring waist was going to take some getting used to. The seamstress who had fitted the robes and other items yesterday hadn't had a clue _why_ the two boys would want the pants and neither one of them had felt it necessary to enlighten her.

"Come here and look at this," Harry said without looking up, pointing to a word in the book. "Does this make sense to you?"

"Harry," Draco said again, his voice tinged with amusement. "I've done it."

"Done what?" Harry asked, writing down another word.

"God, Potter, are you always this oblivious?" Draco knelt down next to him and ran a hand up his back. Harry shivered in pleasure.

"Are you only just now noticing that?" Harry replied, and then asked, "What have you done?"

"Three guesses," Draco whispered in his ear. He trailed his lips down Harry's neck and then returned to his ear to whisper, "And the first two don't count."

Harry's eyes widened. He dropped the quill and scrambled to his feet, knocking Draco backwards. "Really?" he asked breathlessly, grasping Draco's hand and yanking him to his feet. "Are you sure?"

Draco pulled Harry's shift over his head and threw it in the corner. "Positive."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Harry exclaimed as he pushed Draco in the direction of the bedroom.

Draco laughed, clutching Harry's hand and pulling him into the bedroom with him.

They fell on the bed in a tangle, laughing in between the kisses.

"Who's bottoming first?" Harry asked, running his hand over Draco's bare chest.

"You are, I am, I don't care as long as _someone _is," Draco moaned.

"Okay_._" Harry pulled Draco over on top of him. "How about we fight for it."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Harry pushed Draco's sweat-soaked hair off of his face. "That was brilliant," he sighed, burying his face in Draco's neck.

"Mmm," Draco agreed sleepily. "Bath."

"'kay," Harry murmured. "You go fill the tub, I'll be there in a minute."

Draco's arms tightened around Harry. "Absolutely not, Potter. You're getting up with me."

"Prat."

"Whatever," Draco said, stroking Harry's back. "You need to come up with a better insult."

"Probably. I'll think about it later. Much later."

Harry dozed off for a moment, but soon felt Draco pushing at him. "You're getting heavy," he said. "And I feel slimy and sticky."

Harry opened his eyes. "Do you want me to cast a cleaning charm?"

Draco shoved Harry away from him. "No, I want a bath." Draco climbed out of the bed. "It's one thing to cast a cleaning spell on hands, but I'm not letting you point your wand anywhere near my bits!"

Harry laughed. "Oh the jokes I could make right now, about _wands_ and _bits_."

Draco glared at him. "Go fill the tub," he said, reaching for the flannel he'd set by the bed earlier.

Harry pulled the tub from out of the corner where they stored it and cast an _auguamenti_ spell to start filling it. The house elves had been more than willing to enlarge the tub for them and now it was big enough for both of them to sit in, or one to recline easily. When he had the tub about half full, he levitated the pot that they had bought to heat water for tea away from the fire and dumped all of the nearly boiling water into the tub. Then he refilled the pot and sent it back to hang over the fire.

"Bath's ready!" Harry called as he stepped into the now warm water.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The early morning sun shone brightly into the sitting room. Harry blinked owlishly from the sofa as Draco poured hot water over the crushed leaves in each of their wooden goblets.

"Come on," Draco said. "Let's go to breakfast."

The tea had steeped and the leaves settled to the bottom of the goblets by the time the two boys sat down at the table in the Great Hall. Harry added a bit of honey to his tea, took a sip and then sighed with pleasure. "I knew I loved you for a reason," he said.

"You say that every morning." Draco grinned. "So your love for me has nothing to do with the sex, and everything to do with the tea?"

"Yes," Harry was emphatically. "Although my opinion will probably change later this evening."

Draco's laughter drew the attention of Mistress Kensington and Headmaster Brevard, the only other people in the hall, but they quickly turned back to their food. "It always does," Draco whispered mischievously.

Harry grinned at him around a spoonful of porridge.

"So, what are we doing today?" Draco asked, popping the last bite of bread into his mouth. "Working more on reading?"

"I want to go outside," Harry sighed. "We've been here over two weeks and we haven't been outside except for Diagon Alley."

Draco nodded. "It's a good idea. Do you want to go see where the Quidditch Pitch should be?"

"We can do that," Harry agreed. "But I also want to go and look at the glade."

Draco looked up in surprise. "Why? Do you think…"

"I'm pretty sure that the glade had something to do with us being thrown back in time." Harry took a bite of bread and cheese and chewed slowly, thinking about the night that they had arrived here. "I don't know if we'll find any answers there, but I want to look."

"What if something happens and we end up somewhere else?" Draco asked anxiously. "What if we wind up even _farther _back in time?"

"We'll be careful." Harry took Draco's hand and squeezed it. "I think if we don't do any magic in the glade we should be safe."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "So, you're thinking that when you did that spell…"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Something happened."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I love reviews!_

_Thanks to my beta's, Badgerlady and Crescent. Their help is invaluable._

_As always, the original characters are mine, everything else belongs to JKR.  
><em>

**Chapter 8**

It was too warm outside for their winter cloaks, but they wore them anyway. The pockets were filled with everything they had come with, and underneath the heavy linen robes they were wearing the trousers they had arrived in. Draco decided that he was taking no chances in case they were flung into some other time.

Halfway to the glade, Harry concluded that wearing all those clothes really was not worth it. He felt the sweat trickle down his back and into the waistband of his trousers, making him itch. He undid the clasp and flung the cloak off his shoulders and onto the ground. "It's too hot for this," he exclaimed, glaring hatefully at the offending cloak.

"You're welcome to leave it there, Potter, but don't blame me if we wind up in 382 B.C. in the middle of winter," Draco said. "We'd be there just in time to see the grand opening of Ollivander's and then you would promptly freeze to death." Then he smirked as Harry retrieved his cloak and threw it back over his shoulders.

"I told you, we're not going to go anywhere," Harry said with a confidence he really didn't feel, checking his pockets to make sure he hadn't lost anything during his outburst. "We'll be perfectly safe."

"Yeah, just like the last time, right?" Draco said with a laugh.

"Go ahead, bring that up _now,_" Harry whined playfully, as he refastened the clasp.

Draco leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Cooling charm."

Harry's face turned a bright red and he stalked off, muttering about stupid, smug, Slytherin boyfriends.

Draco quickly caught up to him and took his hand, looking down at him with amusement.

"Why do you tease me?" Harry asked with a smile.

Draco's face lit up with delight. "Because it's so _easy_."

"Prick," Harry laughed.

Draco laughed with him. "Your insults are getting better," he said and intertwined his fingers with Harry's as they walked the last few minutes to the glade.

The glade looked just the same, with its carpet of moss and grass, and the little white stones scattered about in a seemingly random pattern. It was cooler inside the glade than outside which led Draco to suggest that it was the same temperature in the glade all of the time, it just felt cooler now because it was the middle of summer.

Harry wandered around the glade for over an hour, attempting to make some sense of the whole thing. "I can feel an upsurge of raw magic, but that doesn't feel any different than when we used to come here before." He knelt inside the stones.

"Harry, stay outside the stones," Draco warned, reaching down to grasp Harry's arm and pulling gently. "They could be the catalyst for the time travel."

Harry nodded and got to his feet, stepping outside the perimeter the stones created. "We fell when the S_tupefy_ I shot off backfired," he mused. "I don't remember where we were in relationship to the stones when I woke up. I was too worried about you being hurt."

Draco scanned the area. "There," he said, pointing at a spot just inside the ragged outline the stones created. He moved over to inspect it more closely. "There's blood right here."

"Then we weren't completely within the area of the stones," Harry said. "Only our upper bodies were. So that could mean that the stones don't have anything to do with it."

"Or that your spell and us falling even partially into the area set off a chain reaction that sent us here," Draco said, looking around the area they had fallen.

"Hmmm…So no answers yet," Harry said with a disappointed sigh. "Let's go back to the castle."

As they walked back along the faded path, Draco asked, "You said you've felt the raw magic there before."

"Yes," Harry said. "Didn't you feel it?"

Draco shook his head. "No. I knew there had to be some sort of permanent spell on the area to maintain the environment, but it never occurred to me that it was natural."

"You thought it was placed there on purpose."

"Yeah," Draco replied. "I thought it might have been Severus who did it. He's always looking for ways to grow some of the more difficult potions ingredients."

"Would he have been magically strong enough to maintain the area over a long stretch of time?" Harry asked curiously.

"I don't know," Draco shrugged. "I know he's strong magically, but _that_ strong? I never thought about it."

"When I was eleven, I thought he was the scariest man I'd ever met, with the exception of Uncle Vernon," Harry said. "But I never thought about him being a strong wizard. He was good at potions, but I rarely saw him do spells."

"He did the counter-spell when Quirrell was trying to kill you," Draco pointed out.

"Yeah, but I think that's the only time I remember him doing any magic." Harry laughed. "I was too busy trying to avoid him to pay attention to his abilities."

"What about after first year?" Draco asked.

"By the end of fifth year, I had decided that he was just a petty, angry man who wasn't going to get over me looking like my father." Harry glanced at Draco. "I know he was kind to you, especially when your father wasn't, but he was never anything but cruel and nasty to me."

"I know," Draco agreed. "I used to think it was funny. Now…"

"Now, I realise that he had a reason to be mean," Harry said. "I just wish he could have seen past it. Seen that I'm not like my father in that way."

With a surprised look, Draco said, "He treats you like so many people treat me, with the assumption that I'm just an extension of my father."

Harry stopped on the path and wound his arms around Draco's waist. "It's a good thing we're not," he said, kissing Draco lightly. "Otherwise, we'd have never got together."

Draco rested his head on top of Harry's head. "That would have been a shame."

"Yeah."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

They were looking at the dirt field where the Quidditch Pitch would eventually be located. There were several goats eating the long grass, watched over by a young boy who looked to be about twelve or so and had an expression of extreme boredom on his face.

"I wonder if he's one of the Muggleborns that Mistress Kensington was talking about," Harry said thoughtfully.

"I thought you said that Muggleborns were placed with purebloods once they started school," Draco said.

"Not all purebloods are rich," Harry answered, thinking of the Weasleys with a pang of homesickness.

"True," Draco said. "Can you imagine such a thing in our time? Placing Muggleborns with purebloods? What a horrifying thought."

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat offended, but wanting to know Draco's thinking before he became angry.

"Because the Dark Lord would have easier access to them and we'd lose them all," Draco replied, his eyes on Harry. "Did you think I was going to say something about blood purity?"

Harry nodded with relief. "I thought it was possible."

Draco turned away from him for a moment and then looked back. "A year ago it's exactly what I would have thought." He put his hand on Harry's arm. "But not anymore."

With a last look at the boy watching the goats, they turned to make their way back to the castle.

"I've been thinking," Harry said.

"What, again?" Draco teased. "Haven't I warned you about that?"

Harry smacked him on his arm.

"Don't say 'prick' again," Draco smirked. "You have to expand your vocabulary."

"Fine," Harry huffed, crossing his arms as they walked. "I just won't say anything at all."

After a bit of silence, Draco finally asked, "What were you thinking about?"

Harry grinned at him. "I knew you'd give in."

Draco just glared.

"I've been thinking about a way to get a note to Bill," Harry said.

Draco tipped his head, contemplating the idea. "How would you do that, considering he's eight hundred years in the future?"

"He works at Gringotts," Harry mused. "If we talked to one of the goblins, it might be possible to leave a letter with his name on it and a date for it to be delivered to him."

Draco smiled. "That might work. We know that Gringotts is still there, it would just be a matter of figuring out how to keep it safe and insure that he gets it at the proper time."

They walked up the steps to the castle to find Headmaster Brevard waiting for them.

"Headmaster," Draco said, bowing slightly. "What may we do for you?"

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. A letter came for you this morning." He handed the rolled-up parchment to them. "I also wanted to talk to you about how your research is coming along."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said as he took the parchment and slipped it into a pocket. "When would you like to speak to us?"

"Will you join me in my office after breakfast tomorrow?" the headmaster asked.

"Certainly, Headmaster," Draco replied, and with an incline of his head, the headmaster swept past them and out the main doors to the grounds.

"School doesn't start for another three weeks, does it?" Harry asked as they made their way to their rooms.

"No, but I think he realises that we're having problems because we can't read the books yet." Draco whispered the password to the portrait at their door.

After hanging up their cloaks on the pins by the door, Harry flung himself onto the sofa and unrolled the parchment. "It's from Ollivander," he said. He studied it for several minutes with Draco looking over his shoulder. "I think he's telling us about the spell for translating."

Draco ran his fingers over the part that was obviously in Latin. "Here," he said, tapping one section of the writing. "I think this is where we would put in what language we want to translate."

"Do you want to try it now, or do you want me to figure out exactly what the letter says first?" Harry ran his eyes down the writing again.

"Work out what he's saying first," Draco said. "We should know if there are any warnings before we go firing off any new spells."

Harry nodded. "You work on a rough draft of the letter for Bill, then we can work on the finished letter together. That way he'll know that we're both here and alive. We can take it to Gringotts tomorrow after we talk to the headmaster."

Draco pulled out his parchment and sat at the desk. "That's a good idea. Since we'll already be in his office, we can just floo over."

"We can also stop and see Master Ollivander if we have any questions about his letter or the spell," Harry said distractedly as he stood up from the sofa and sat next to Draco at the desk.

The scratching of quill on parchment was the only sound for the next half an hour as they each worked on their own. Draco finished first and set aside the letter for Harry to look at later, then leaned over to see Harry working on the last sentence of the letter. "Any surprises?"

Harry looked up as he placed the quill back in its stand. "No, it's pretty much what we thought. He goes through the wand movements and instructs where to place the language that we want to translate from and the one we're translating to."

Draco picked up the paper covered in Harry's writing. "The wand movement is slightly different than what I expected." He pulled his wand and waved it over Ollivander's letter, muttering the spell and ending it with a tap of his wand on the paper. The letter swirled around for a moment and then settled into a nearly exact copy of what Harry had just written.

"Perfect!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up from his seat and hugging Draco. "We should be able to make progress now."

Draco started undoing the belt that held Harry's robes closed. "How long until dinner?" he asked, lowering his head to Harry's shoulder and moving aside the robe to kiss him there.

"Long enough," Harry replied, tilting his head back as Draco kissed his way up his neck to his mouth.

"Bed," Draco whispered against his lips. "Now."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

They followed the headmaster up to his office the next morning, still carrying the goblets that they used for their tea. When they had settled into the chairs opposite his desk, Headmaster Brevard asked. "Are you making any progress?"

Draco started. "Up until yesterday, the answer would have been no. We _can_ read quite well; however, your version of English differs entirely from ours. It has necessitated us relearning, beginning with the alphabet and how the letters are formed. Harry has been working on doing that with the help of Mistress Kensington."

The headmaster turned to Harry. "How are you coming along on the reading, Mr. Potter?"

"Slowly, sir." Harry shrugged. "I'm getting better at it and am starting to recognize several words and letters by sight, but since everyone writes their letters somewhat differently, it's been…challenging."

"I see," Headmaster Brevard said. "What changed yesterday?"

"Yesterday we received a letter from Master Ollivander. We had asked him to help us when we visited Diagon Alley and he sent us the results of his research yesterday."

The headmaster nodded. "Do you mind if I see the letter?"

"Not at all, sir," Draco said, pulling the letter out of his pocket. He cast a quick _Finite Incantatum_, cancelling the language spell, then handed it to the headmaster.

"This is very interesting," the headmaster said after a few moments of reading. "How did you think of this?"

"I learned a spell back in fourth year to translate Latin to English," Draco said. "I was working on the origins of a spell and needed to be able to break down the components. The spell shows both Latin and English and instructs on how the language structure differs. For this spell, I didn't need something that complex and Mr. Ollivander helped with the spell and wand movements."

Headmaster Brevard smiled. "Very resourceful Mr. Malfoy. I congratulate you."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said, looking straight at the headmaster with a serious expression.

"Headmaster," Harry said abruptly. "Do you want to know everything yet, or do you still want to wait?"

The headmaster looked thoughtful. "I will wait for the full story. I do not wish to…upset…things until it becomes absolutely necessary. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. The headmaster didn't want to know about the future because then he could affect it. It made sense, but left Harry feeling unaccountably annoyed.

"Sir," Draco said. "We need to go to Diagon Alley this morning and we were wondering if we could use your floo."

"Certainly," the headmaster said. "Leave your goblets on the table and you can retrieve them when you return."

The boys set the goblets down and pulled the floo powder off the mantel. Harry stepped into the fireplace first and yelled "Diagon Alley!"

When he was spat out of the floo, the first thing he noticed was that the Leaky Cauldron was as filthy as the last time. As soon as Draco came through they ran out the back door while holding their breath.

"Really," Draco said haughtily. "Someone should _do_ something about that place."

Harry laughed and took Draco's hand. "And they will, seven hundred years or so from now."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Gringotts still had the goblins holding open the huge silver doors. Inside the bank was the same marble, the same sense of busy urgency. Draco led Harry up to a counter with a free goblin.

"Yes?" the goblin asked without looking up from his paperwork.

"We need to speak to someone about storing a letter for us," Draco replied in his best pureblood tone of voice.

The goblin looked up uninterestedly. "New account or security box?"

"Ummm…" Harry looked confused.

"Security box," Draco said. "And someone to help us with an opening date on the box."

The goblin snapped his fingers and a smaller goblin ran up. "Take these…gentlemen to Branhook."

The smaller goblin turned and walked off without speaking to the boys. They followed him to a small office with no place to sit except for the goblin behind the desk.

"These men want a security box," the small goblin said.

"Why couldn't the teller take care of it?" the other goblin snarled. Branhook, Harry supposed.

"Because we need a secure opening date on the box," Draco said nastily, but closed his mouth when Harry laid a hand on his arm. They didn't want to upset the goblins, they needed them for this.

"Fine," Branhook bit out. "Follow me."

The trip to the secure boxes was short. He led them to a huge room adjacent to the main lobby that was lined with hundreds of boxes.

"The boxes are secured with a key and a password."

"That won't work for us," Harry said. "We need the box to open automatically on an exact date and time."

Branhook led them over to a small box. "Will this suit?"

"Yes," Draco said and pulled the letter out of his pocket, placing it in the box.

"Now what date do you want it to open?" Branhook said, closing the box and settling it back in place.

They had agreed on a date last night. It was enough of a window that if they managed to get back, the letter would be unnecessary, but early enough after they left to possibly help Bill and whoever else with finding them. "First July 1997," Draco said.

The goblin didn't even react. He set the date and turned around, handing them a piece of parchment. "You can pay out front."

The goblin out front looked at the amount. "Forty Galleons," he said, stamping the paper. "Do you want that to come out of the Potter vault, Mr. Potter?"

Harry stepped back in shock, his eyes widening. "How do you know me?"

The goblin smiled, a vicious smile filled with sharp teeth. "There are no secrets here, Mr. Potter."

Harry hesitated for a moment, considering the surprising notion that the goblins knew his situation. He thought about asking the goblin how much they knew, but then decided it was better if he didn't. "Yes, the Potter vault, please," He finally said. He signed his name, then left a drop of blood on the parchment.

"I hope the current Potters don't notice that they have money missing," Draco whispered once they were out of the bank.

I hope so too," Harry replied. "But I'm glad not to have spent that kind of money. It would have left us nearly destitute."

They decided to forego visiting Ollivander's for the moment and instead went to the Apothecary's to buy more herbs for their tea.

"Did you get anything different?" Harry asked as they walked to the Leaky Cauldron.

"He had some dried blueberries. I thought those might be interesting to try."

Harry laughed. "Blueberry tea. It's not something I would have considered, but it sounds good."

The headmaster was not in his office when they returned, so they retrieved their goblets and left for their rooms. Harry brushed his shoulder against Draco as they were walking down the corridor. "I feel hopeful," he said with a small smile. "Like we can do this and be successful."

Draco nodded. "I feel the same. It may take time, but I think we'll make it home."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I can't believe I got this chapter finished so quickly! Thanks to my betas, who are wonderful and awesome!_

_05/18/12: I edited the chapter to change the dates for the school year to match JKR's. It was a glaring error that I could no longer stand._

_Thanks for the reviews, reviews make me so happy!_

**Chapter 9**

Draco's seventeenth birthday passed without much notice. Snape was the only one to mark the day with a glass of wine and a fervent prayer for his safe return. That was also the day that the Dark Lord killed Lucius and tortured Snape nearly insensible with the _Cruciatus_ and other spells that-while not unforgiveable-were nevertheless extremely painful and debilitating. The Dark Lord shouted and hissed his displeasure at not knowing why Draco and Narcissa had disappeared, or where they had gone, and Snape wound up spending the next five days in the infirmary before his body would respond without pain and massive muscle spasms. Snape realised that the only thing that had saved his mind this last time was his nearly unbreakable Occlumancy shields and suspected that the next meeting with the Dark Lord would result in his death. Snape made the decision that he was finished with the Dark Lord and being a spy. He would no longer respond to the Dark Lord's summons.

Snape had no idea where Narcissa had gone, and was glad not to know. She had left Malfoy Manor a week after the two boys had disappeared without any warning, or even any clothes. He suspected it was something that Draco had put in place when the boys had decided to try to escape the madness of war, but he couldn't be certain.

After that, with the school year ended and most of the students returned home, Snape's days were filled with research. Weasley and Granger had remained behind, and Granger was essentially living in the library with two or three Ravenclaws who had volunteered to stay and continue to look for a clue to Potter's whereabouts. Lupin showed up just as the school year was ending looking ragged and depressed, but he joined in the search with a determined look.

While the others spent their time searching for Potter, the largest part of Snape's research was spent with Shacklebolt as they searched for Horcruxes. Whenever Snape was in Dumbledore's office, much of the time was spent forcibly trying to pull as much information about Horcruxes out of the headmaster as he could get. Dumbledore was fading quickly and Snape thought that he wouldn't last another two weeks. The loud arguments that had occurred whenever Snape asked about the Horcruxes had faded to mumbled protests and long irritated silences, finally followed by whatever information the headmaster felt like sharing. He no longer complained about Snape taking the Horcrux hunt away from Harry, or the fact that he thought Snape was defying the prophecy. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned the prophecy in more than a month, seeming to have given up on Harry ever returning.

It was now the first of July and Snape was nearly running to McGonagall's office. The stairs apparently sensed his urgency and remained quiet as he took them two at a time. McGonagall had sent an urgent Patronus to him a few minutes ago, saying that she needed to see him _now_. He hoped it had to do with the whereabouts of Draco and Potter.

The office had one other visitor when he arrived. Bill Weasley was perched on the edge of one of her armchairs with a cup of tea. McGonagall rose up from behind her desk with a relieved look on her face. "Severus, thank you for coming so quickly."

"Minerva, when you send me a Patronus saying you need me _now_, did you expect me to dawdle, or chat with the portraits on the way?"

McGonagall smiled indulgently at Snape's sharp tone. "No, of course not." She waved to the empty chair. "Please sit, Severus. Mr. Weasley has a very interesting story to tell."

Snape eyed Bill Weasley with a scowl. "Mr. Weasley, you said in your letter that you were unable to assist us."

Weasley smiled evenly at Snape. "I have been released from my vow, Professor. I am here to tell you all that I know."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "How is this possible? Potter and Mr. Malfoy are lost somewhere in the distant past, and as far as I know have no way to communicate with you."

Weasley pulled a thick sheaf of folded parchment out of his pocket and handed it to Snape. "This will at least begin the explanation."

Snape looked at Weasley's name printed on the back of the parchment, then carefully unfolded the sheets, smoothing his hands over the stack of pages. The paper was obviously old, but had the residue of a preservation spell that would have kept it from deteriorating with time. When he saw Draco's familiar handwriting, his throat closed up and he had to blink his eyes several times to clear the…dust from them.

_Exact date unknown, but it's sometime in early August, 1197_

_Dear Bill,_

_To begin with, Harry and I are both alive and well as we write this. We hereby release you from all of the terms of your Unbreakable Vow, with the exception of the location of our safe house. That must continue to remain undisclosed as long as the Dark Lord is alive. We would also ask that you talk only to those who need to know such as Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. Please do not inform Headmaster Dumbledore unless it's unavoidable, as neither of us trust him with anything anymore. _

_Harry says that you can tell the Weasel…er…Ron and Granger also._

At this point the writing changed to Potter's messy scrawl.

_Bill, don't pay any attention to Draco, He's just being a prat. We miss you all, and are working on getting home._

The writing then changed back to Draco's.

_We have been here in this time for close to three weeks. It's very strange here and we have been having some difficulty adjusting. Thankfully, I knew a translation spell so that we can understand what everyone around here is saying. Contrary to what some might believe, English is not English in the Middle Ages, it's closer to Gobbledegook. We also ran into a major problem in that all the books are written in Middle English, which of course, we couldn't read. Harry has taken it upon himself to learn the language with the help of some books that teach reading, while I work on other things._

Snape snorted at the thought of Potter learning anything, but kept the snarky comments to himself.

_A bit of good luck happened today. We had visited Diagon Alley the day after we arrived (no Quality Quidditch Supplies!_ was written in Harry's hand) _and we had a conversation with the current Master Ollivander. I asked him if he could help us with a translation spell for writing, basing it on the spell that I learned in fourth year Arithmancy that translated Latin to English. Today we received a reply with instructions for the spell. (A copy of Master Ollivander's original note, along with Harry's translation of his instructions, is included on a separate page). I hope that this will speed up our research. We have been given full access to the library here at the school, which is quite helpful as we cannot purchase books ourselves since each book is copied by hand and extremely expensive. Flourish and Blotts exists, but all they do is books for Hogwarts library and certain other private libraries._

_We went back to visit the glade yesterday as Harry thinks that his magic and the glade's magic interacted in some way. We had been in the glade for nearly two hours that night when we heard a noise and then we were attacked a few moments later. We have no idea what exactly attacked us, but Harry fired a Stupefy that went wild. We were knocked to the ground and when we woke up, we were here. We don't know how that happened, but we will figure it out._

_A bit of information about Hogwarts as it is in this time. The headmaster is Brevard (sorry, we don't know his first name, things are __**very**__ formal here and first names are not just randomly thrown around)._

Potter's writing broke in again.

_Not to mention all the bowing, curtseying, and pureblood manners crap!_

There was blob of ink and then Draco continued.

_He's just jealous because I behave better than he does._

There was an even larger blob of ink as if the two had struggled over the quill. Severus thought it was quite likely.

_Sorry about that, Harry is now sitting in his chair glaring at me, but I get to finish the letter without further…commentary from him. He will add his own notes later._

_To continue, Headmaster Brevard has asked us not to discuss the details of the circumstances of our arrival, even with him, until we have worked on some of the research on our own. I think he is concerned with us upsetting the timeline. As a result, we are doing our best to remain unnoticed by the outside world._

_The librarian is a Mistress Kensington, who has been a great help to Harry and me. The Medi-Wizard's name is Moore. There is another woman who is in charge of the house elves and overseeing the housekeeping, laundry and food; her name is Mistress Smythson. Those are the only people we have met so far - most of the other professors will be returning a week before school begins again on 1 September._

_We are currently residing in one of the Ravenclaw Family Rooms. It is fairly close to the library, but I don't think that they are in use in your time. You may want to get one of the professors to check. The portrait that guards our room is of a knight on a black horse with a white streak on its nose. He and the horse are dressed in blue and green livery. With luck, that will help you find it._

_We are not destitute, Harry had twenty Galleons and I had fifty when we arrived and money goes so much further here than you would imagine. It is quite possible that we have enough funds to last us for a long time, if we are frugal. We have already purchased some clothing, potion supplies including ingredients for a sort of tea and… _(There was a small ink spot as though Draco had rested the pen there for a long moment.) _never mind. The point is that we spent less than eight Galleons for the clothes, cauldrons, stirrers, goblets, etc. As the school is providing our lodging and food, our expenses should be minimal._

_I'm going to give the letter over to Harry now to add his notes._

_Hopefully we will be back soon._

_Draco._

Potter's hand started on the next page.

_Hi Bill!_

_We're doing well, Draco told you all the important stuff, except that there's no tea here! Draco thought we would die without tea, so we had to make up our own. We had to create some other stuff too, but mostly it's been an interesting experience._

_Draco explained what happened in the glade. The only thing I can add is that I was aware of time passing after I was knocked unconscious and also that there was someone in the black with me. I don't think that makes much sense, but that's how I felt._

_I'm continuing to learn to read while Draco is using the translation spell. We've only just started with any meaningful research, so who knows how long we'll be here. Have someone else take care of Voldemort for me, will you? I'm really not up for it right now._

Snape's lips turned up into an almost-smile at that.

_My scar hasn't hurt since we arrived here, so I'm assuming whatever connection I have with Voldemort will be dormant until we find a way back. Also, Draco's Dark Mark has faded to almost nothing, which is a relief. No one wears short sleeves here, but we're just as glad not have to explain if someone here was to see it accidentally._

_If that fool of a headmaster has actually trusted anyone with the information about Horcruxes, please pass this portion of the letter on to them because I'm telling everything I know._

_Tom Riddle apparently made seven Horcruxes. I'm sure of three of them: the diary, which I killed in second year, Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup. I think that Dumbledore mentioned that Nagini might be one, but I'm not sure. _

_The first one was the diary, which he made around the time he first took the name Lord Voldemort at age sixteen._

The following three pages were filled with all of Potter's experiences over the last year. Most of it, Snape already knew from his battles with the headmaster, but a small amount of it was a surprise. What made him angriest was the headmasters' blatant manipulations to make Potter think that he was the only one who could kill the damn things.

_Ok, that's it for now,_ Potter's writing continued at the end._ We'll be home soon, I hope. Don't give up on us._

_Harry._

Snape looked over the pages again, then turned his gaze to Weasley. "How did this come to you?" he asked.

Weasley settled back into the chair and crossed his legs. "They apparently took out a secure box at Gringotts and instead of having it open with a key and a password, they had the goblin set it to open on a specific date. I was notified that the letter was addressed to me shortly after the goblins retrieved the box."

"It's odd," Snape mused. "The tone of the letter is strange."

Weasley grinned. "They sound happy and…content. Both of them were a bundle of nerves last year and I wasn't sure that either of them would make it until the end of June."

Snape nodded. "Just so. Draco was living in constant fear that the Dark Lord would kill his parents."

"And Harry was angry and bitter at the headmaster for his manipulations and broken promises," Weasley added.

Snape pointed to a section of Draco's writing. "Do you know what he meant here when he said they were making some kind of potion and then said "never mind?"

Weasley shook his head. "I don't know, but given that it's Harry and Draco, it probably had something to do with sex."

Snape's head snapped up. "What gives you that idea?" he growled.

"Just that the two of them were waiting to do anything serious until after the school year ended," Bill said, shrugging his shoulders. "My guess would be that once they realised that they weren't going anywhere and they weren't in any danger, sex would have been the first thing on their minds."

Snape thought about it for a minute. "Lube, probably," he said with a smirk.

"You don't think they would…" McGonagall gasped.

Weasley laughed loudly. "Of course I do, Minerva. They're seventeen-year-old boys who fancy each other. We should be grateful that they're spending as much time researching as they indicate in the letter."

McGonagall lowered her head into her hands. "I really don't want to know," she said plaintively.

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

It took them more than two hours to locate the room that they thought the boys might have been staying in. The tiny sitting room and two tinier bedrooms were empty of any furnishings. Snape, McGonagall and Weasley searched the room, but found nothing obvious. Snape tried prying a few of the hearthstones up, but none of them were budging.

"Leave it for now, Severus," McGonagall said. "We'll come back and do a more thorough search later. We'll also check the surrounding rooms in case we got the wrong one."

With one last look around, they left the rooms. Snape set a new password so that the headmaster couldn't get in.

"Not that Albus is going anywhere," Snape commented as they walked back to McGonagall's office. "He can barely move anymore and spends most of his time in bed."

"How much time to you estimate he has left?" Weasley asked.

Snape sneered. "He should have been dead sometime last week, only he's so convinced that Harry is going to come back to complete the 'mission' and fulfill that stupid prophecy that he refuses to give up."

"Hmmm…" Weasley hummed.

"What are you thinking, Bill?" McGonagall asked.

Weasley flushed. "I'm embarrassed to say that it would be easier if he were gone. I wouldn't feel like we were sneaking around."

"That's true," McGonagall said in a reluctant undertone, then flushed an embarrassed red.

"Also," Weasley's voice dropped to a whisper, "has it occurred to either of you that Headmaster Brevard may have a portrait in the headmaster's office? Or perhaps he left a journal?"

Snape abruptly stopped in his tracks and McGonagall's mouth dropped open. Snape's eyes flew to McGonagall's. "Do you think we could get away with searching the office now?" he asked.

"I'm certainly going to try," she said, striding off in the direction of the gargoyle. "Severus, you distract Albus while I talk to the portraits."

The gargoyle hurriedly jumped aside as McGonagall nearly snarled the password. Her wand was in her hand and she looked like she would hex the statue if it dared to hesitate. Her trip up the stairs was as fast as Snape had ever seen her move. Weasley was at her side, matching her pace. Snape followed a step behind, then moved past them as they entered the office to continue into Dumbledore's private quarters.

Dumbledore was on the bed, lying on his side and facing away from the door. Snape moved around the end of the bed to see if the headmaster was sleeping. He stood for a moment before putting a cautious hand on Dumbledore's shoulder.

"Severus," The headmaster rasped in a fading voice. "I will not last much longer. You must fulfill your vow."

"Albus…" Snape said hesitantly.

"Do it," Dumbledore whispered. "Quickly, or you will die with me."

Gently, Snape pointed his wand at Dumbledore and murmured a spell to stop his heart. Snape waited for a moment, then turned and left the room, re-entering the office.

"Why are you back so soon?" McGonagall asked, standing behind the headmaster's desk.

Snape sat in the chair in front of the desk with a sigh. "Albus is dead."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Well, my muse came back. Finally._

_As always, I own nothing. JKR owns it all._

_Thanks to my beta's Badgerlady and Crescent. Their help is invaluable._

**Chapter 10**

The professors started returning to Hogwarts near the end of August. Draco and Harry tried to stay out of their way as much as possible after the first one they encountered stared at Harry for several moments with a confused expression on his face. A moment later, he seemed to remember his manners and bowed slightly while introducing himself as Professor Fraser, Master of Charms. He had a thick Scottish accent that made understanding him difficult even with the translation spell. It wasn't until later in the evening that Draco realised that the man had been looking at Harry's glasses.

"No one is going to know what your glasses are, or why you would need them," Draco said to Harry as they drowsed on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Harry turned his head slightly and peered at Draco. The subject of their conversation was sitting a few feet away from them, the lenses in their heavy black frames glinting in the firelight. "Why hasn't someone asked before? They must have noticed."

Draco moved his head in an approximation of a shrug, briefly tightening his arms around Harry. "Headmaster Brevard probably told the people who were here when we arrived not to question us, particularly about anything they noticed that would be considered odd."

"Mmm…" Harry said sleepily. "That would explain everyone at the school, but what about Diagon Alley? Ollivander didn't even seem to notice."

"Maybe the headmaster put a glamour on your glasses when he did our shoes," Draco said.

"Maybe," Harry said, wrinkling his forehead in thought. "I'll have to talk to him about it. I hate it when people put spells on me without my knowledge."

Draco gave a short laugh. "That's an understatement of monumental proportions, Harry. You were furious with Dumbledore for a more than week, after he tried to put a tracking spell on you right before the Christmas holidays."

"Damned meddlesome, manipulating…" Harry's heated tirade was cut off as Draco leaned over and kissed him.

"Do you know how to do glamours?" Harry asked somewhat breathlessly a few minutes later, his eyes half closed.

"Yes, somewhat. I was learning the spell from Severus, but I haven't got it quite right yet," Draco replied. "I could probably do your glasses, they're small and uncomplicated, but it might be better to ask the headmaster to do it. If I get it even a little wrong, your face will look distorted and everyone will know that you're trying to hide something."

"Hmmm…" Harry picked up his glasses and peered at them. "I wonder how they deal with short-sighted people here."

"No idea," Draco replied, getting to his feet and holding a hand out. "Come on, Potter, let's go to bed."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

Harry wrote a note to the headmaster the next morning requesting a meeting and then called for a house-elf to deliver it. The little elf's nose scraped the floor as it bowed and then popped away with the letter.

"Are you still on about the glamour, Harry?" Draco asked as he pulled on his shoes.

"Yes, but it isn't just that; the school year is starting in a few days and he promised to help us."

Draco shrugged. "You know that he's just going to find a way to put us off again."

Harry glared at Draco. "What makes you say that?"

Draco looked up with a smirk. "He either has no idea how we got here, and doesn't want to appear ignorant, or he thinks that by helping us he's interfering with the time-line."

Harry sat down in the chair next to Draco. "Wouldn't our just _being_ here interfere with the time-line?"

"Not necessarily," Draco answered. "If we minimize our interactions with other people and you somehow manage not to save anyone's life, we could go unnoticed in the history books."

Harry spluttered a bit. "Do you really think that I would go around saving people?"

Draco grinned. "You do have a _saving people_ thing. You told me yourself at the beginning of last term."

"No I didn't," Harry said emphatically. "I told you that _Hermione_ said I have a _saving people _thing. I didn't say that I agreed with her."

Draco looked amused as he threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Of course. I should have known that Granger would be wrong about that. She's wrong about so many things."

"Hermione is _not_…" Harry stopped speaking, suddenly aware that he was being backed into a metaphorical corner. He crossed his arms and growled low in his throat as Draco laughed.

"Pick up your goblet, hero-boy," Draco said, striding over to the fireplace where the pot of water was simmering. "Breakfast is waiting."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

A note inviting them to the headmaster's office that evening after dinner, was delivered by a different house-elf when the boys were sitting in the library, surrounded by books and scrolls. The early afternoon sunlight filtered in from high windows, augmenting the light from the candles floating above their heads. After reading the short missive aloud to Draco, Harry slipped it into his pocket without comment and turned his eyes back to the book he was reading. Reading the books was easier now, although there were still words that Harry had difficulty translating since they had no direct modern English counterpart.

Draco was using Ollivander's translation spell, scanning thick, dusty books for clues to how they may have been sent back in time eight hundred years. If he found something that looked relevant, he would copy the translation over to parchment and then give the book and translation to Harry to see if the wording was correct. There were several times that the translation had displaced a word or given a sentence a different meaning.

After more hours than Harry cared to think about, he found a reference to a man traveling through time. It was a brief passage in a two-foot scroll so old that the ink had faded, making it even more difficult to translate. Harry's head was pounding after squinting at the scroll and writing furiously as he translated, trying to find an additional reference.

Once the entire scroll was translated, Harry rubbed his eyes and laid his head on the table. "At this rate, we'll be here for years," he groaned.

"We can't give up now," Draco said, pushing his book away. "That scroll is very promising."

Harry groaned. "There's one mention in one paragraph about someone _possibly _traveling through time with a spell."

"It gives us a place to start," Draco said and Harry could hear the hope in his voice.

"I suppose," Harry grumbled and turned his eyes back to the scroll and its translation. After only a few minutes of reading through the text again, he raised his head just far enough to glare at Draco.

"I'm tired of studying," Harry complained. "I didn't enjoy it in our own time, and I like it even less now. We need something else to do."

Draco sat back in his chair. Harry watched him gaze at the books on the shelves as if he could will the book with the answers out of the stacks and into his hands. Eventually, Draco sighed and got to his feet, gathering together the papers that were the result of their last round of research.

"Let's go talk to the Defense master. If we're going to be staying here for any amount of time, where there's no Dark Lord chasing us, we may as well get some help to defeat him when we go back."

Harry jumped to his feet with a rush of excitement. "Without that ridiculous curse on the position, the professor may be someone who's actually qualified."

Draco grinned. "That would certainly be a change."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

They passed no one in the corridors leading to the Defense rooms and their voices echoed back to them from the wide stone of the corridors. Harry carried his notes and translation from the scroll as the two of them argued about the information gleaned from the last scroll. Despite Harry's insistence that he needed a break, his eyes kept wandering back to the writing.

"If the spell worked…" Draco said, poking his finger at Harry's notes.

"It doesn't even say what the spell was," Harry replied, waving the notes at Draco. "Or how far into the future the man supposedly travelled. He could just be a charlatan."

"It could have been the beginnings of a time-turner." Draco insisted.

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Time-turners only go backwards."

"Yes, but…"

"It could have been any number of things, or nothing at all. We don't have enough information to go on."

"So we'll just have to work harder," Draco said. "There has to be more information."

Harry groaned and then frowned at Draco. "That's the main problem, there's not enough information for anything we've looked at so far. It's all guesswork."

They stopped in front of the door to the Defense classroom and knocked. Harry was scowling at the parchment in his hand when the door swung open.

The Defense professor was a tall, thin man with bright blue eyes. He looked startled to see them, but quickly schooled his expression into a welcoming smile. "Gentlemen," he said. "How may I help you?"

"Do you have a moment to speak with us, Professor?" Draco asked with a short bow after introducing themselves.

"Certainly," the professor replied as he held the door open for them to enter. He led them to a large desk at the back of the room and waited as the boys settled into the chairs facing the desk.

"What would you like to speak to me about?" the professor asked as he took his seat.

"Professor…" Harry began.

"Bonham," the professor supplied when Harry paused.

"Professor Bonham," Draco said as he smoothed down the linen robes. "We were wondering if you would agree to provide Mr. Potter and myself with private lessons."

Professor Bonham turned his gaze to Draco. "Why would you need private lessons beyond what I teach during the school year?"

"Sir," Harry said. "We are not enrolled at Hogwarts."

Professor Bonham's eyebrows climbed into his forehead. "Then why are you here? You must be aware that attendance at this school is by invitation only."

Harry felt his temper rise at the statement, but cut off any words when Draco laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly. "We are sir," Draco said calmly. "Headmaster Brevard knows of our circumstances and has approved of our residing here."

The Defense professor stood and the two boys stood with him. "Then talk to _him_. I have neither the time, nor the inclination to teach you without you even bothering to attend classes." He opened the door and gestured them out of the room.

Harry stood in front of him, his eyes dark with anger. "You will not even give us a chance to prove what we know?" he demanded.

"Remove yourselves from my presence," Professor Bonham said. "Come back when you are legitimately enrolled at this institution."

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him into the hallway. The door to the defense classroom slammed shut behind them.

Harry growled under his breath. "Stupid, condescending, overbearing…"

"Stop," Draco said and Harry's tirade cut off mid sentence. "He's got a point."

"On the top of his head," Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Draco folded his arms and glared at Harry. Harry glared back for a moment before dropping his eyes and turning away.

"Now as I was saying," Draco said. "We probably should ask the headmaster to enroll us in the school. It would give us a legitimate reason for being here all the time and we could research how to get home along with our studies. Then when we got back, we wouldn't be so far behind."

"Draco," Harry whined, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't want to start back at Hogwarts. You know they'll want to sort us and it's quite possible that we'll end up in different houses again. I don't want to sleep in a dorm with a group of boys I don't know."

Draco smirked. "You convinced the hat to put you into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. I _know_ that you can convince it otherwise this time."

Harry laughed ruefully. "I suppose you're right." He started up the stairs to the Great Hall. "Let's go eat dinner so that we can get this over with."

"We should try for Ravenclaw," Harry said absently as he scooped up some stew into his spoon. "It's a neutral area for both of us and they have two-person dorm rooms. That way we could stay together without having to sleep in a room with a bunch of other boys."

Draco nodded. "Good idea," he said, his voice teasing. "I'm surprised."

Harry smirked. "I do have them occasionally."

Draco took a drink of his ale. "We could try to convince him to let us stay in the rooms we're in," he said.

"We could, but I doubt we'd be successful," Harry retorted. "We're not married and don't have any kids."

"That we know of," Draco said, just as Harry took a sip of ale.

Harry choked on his ale, coughing and sputtering while Draco snickered at him.

"Is this where you're going to tell me that Parkinson is having your love child?" Harry asked when he got his breath back.

Draco turned an interesting shade of green. "God no," he declared. "I'd rather have sex with the Weasel than that bint."

Harry snorted. "I can see it now. You and Ron and Parkinson in some twisted love triangle with you lusting after Ron and Pansy wanting no one but you."

Draco laughed with him. "And Weasel? Where would he be in all of this?"

"Eating," Harry said, placing his hand over his mouth to contain his laughter. "You know he's oblivious to all those things."

Draco snorted and rose from the table. "Let's go have that talk with the headmaster."

_~hp~dm~hp~dm~_

The headmaster readily admitted to having put a glamour on Harry's glasses, then apologized for not telling him in the first place.

"Don't do it again," Harry warned. "I've had people putting spells on me without my knowledge for years and I don't like it."

Headmaster Brevard nodded. "Of course, I completely understand. Will you give me permission to place a permanent glamour on your…glasses at this time? I think it would be easier than trying to explain."

Harry handed his glasses to him, then watched carefully as he waved his wand over them. Harry was surprised that he could still see them when they were given back to him.

"I altered the spell slightly so that you and Mr. Malfoy would be able to see them. It would not be useful if you remove them from your face and then can't find them."

"Thank you," Harry murmured as he settled them on his nose.

"Now," the headmaster said, sitting back in his chair. "Have you made any decisions about your time here?"

Draco smoothed his hands over his robes. "We've decided that we would like to enroll to attend at least the next term. We feel that the instruction we would receive would be most advantageous to our pursuit to return home."

The headmaster nodded his agreement. "I certainly think that's a wise idea. How do you propose covering the tuition?"

Harry's heart dropped. They hadn't even discussed the tuition. "I don't know, sir," he admitted. "We don't have the funds available."

"No, I imagine not," Headmaster Brevard said. "How would you feel about assisting a few of the professors?"

"Sir," Draco said cautiously, "we are only just now re-learning to read. How would we be able to help?"

"It's my understanding that you have some skill with potions, Mister Malfoy. You could help the Potions master with his brewing and tutoring the younger students. Mister Potter could assist in the Library." He turned to look at Harry. "Mistress Kensington says that you are doing quite well in your reading and that you would be an asset when it comes to helping the first years."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "I would be more than happy to do what I can, sir."

"Good," the headmaster said, standing and reaching for the Sorting Hat. "Let's just get this out of the way now and then we can get you settled in new rooms."

"Um…" Harry hesitated a moment before standing. "Don't you want to wait until the first day of term?"

"No," Headmaster Brevard said. "I don't allow older students to sort with the first years." He held the hat out to Harry, offering no explanation as to _why_.

Harry took the hat and set it on his head.

'_Welcome Mr. Potter,'_ the Sorting Hat said as soon as Harry settled it onto his head. _'Your head is full of fascinating things.'_

Harry laughed shortly. '_No doubt'_, he thought back at the hat. '_I would like to go to Ravenclaw and for my friend to go there with me'._

'_Hmmm…'_ The hat wiggled on his head a bit. '_I think that you would be more suited elsewhere, but I can see why you would request Ravenclaw. Your studies would go easier there, and…'_

'_Don't go there,'_ Harry warned and the hat gave a mental chuckle. Then another thought occurred to him. _'Can you help us find a way to go home?'_

'_Sadly, no.'_ The hat seemed to wilt a bit. _'What happened to you is not something I've seen before. Maybe if I were as ancient and learned as I will be in your time, I would have a stunning solution, but for now…'_

'_Right,'_ Harry thought with disappointment, then forced himself to focus. _'Ravenclaw. For me and Draco.'_


End file.
